


The Thistle and The Rose

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Accents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Bars and Pubs, Bed & Breakfast, Blow Jobs, Blushing, Crack, Domestic Praxmos, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Gratuitous Blushing, Hand Jobs, Kilts, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Meet-Cute, Not That Slow Though, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, Scotland, Scottish Accents, Sheep, Slow Burn, So Many Sheep, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: a.k.a. Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic.A modern-setting AU in which Jules (Phobos) the high-strung Londoner visits the Scottish countryside for some relaxation and has a meet-cute with Aidan (Ethos) the sheep farmer while en route to the B&B where he is staying. Sheep-related antics ensue. Somehow, against all odds, Jules leaves his heart at the gateway to the Highlands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On the tags: I've put up all the relevant relationship and character tags that I have planned so far, even if they haven't shown up yet. Additional tags are being handled on a chapter-by-chapter basis, and will be added to as new chapters are posted. 
> 
> On the rating: I'm rating this story 'Explicit' from the start, because there will eventually be smut included, but I will mention that in the chapter notes where it applies, so feel free to read on even if that isn't your thing. The first few chapters will just be cracky fluff! 
> 
> Just going to put an apology in advance for the inconsistent writing of Scots English. Even having lived in Scotland for a year, I find it difficult to put those fabulous and varied accents into writing. I tried to strike a balance here of making my dialogue easy to read and comprehend, and communicating the Scots pronunciation. Oh, and an even bigger apology for the butchering job I'm going to make of the Gaelic later in the fic. 
> 
> Because this is an AU, here's a name reference:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)  
> Anna = Cain's sister  
> Ethan = Abel  
> Claude = Porthos  
> Simon = Keeler  
> James = Encke
> 
> Some fanon names (most notably Ethos & Praxis') are borrowed from [violetnyte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte), and some are older ones that I don't know who to give attribution to. Deimos' name is the Scottish equivalent to his fanon name Aleks. Cain's name was tricky--it's a Gaelic name that has no actual connection to his fanon names besides the first five letters being the same as one of them, which was as good as I could get with no Scottish equivalents. Cain's sister's name is borrowed from [sparkly_things](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_things).
> 
> Many thanks are due to [violetnyte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte) for endless encouragement and discussion of everything from clan tartans to the finer points of modern sheep farming. 
> 
> For more Scottish AU meta and nonsense, you can check the '[space gays in kilts: the fic](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic)' tumblr tag that I'll be putting all of that under, along with chapter updates for those who prefer to follow via tumblr rather than AO3 subscription.

Jules knew then that he was staring death in the eye. And it was staring back at him from creepy yellow pools, obelisk-like pupils that went the wrong direction at their centers. The fluffy, harmless-looking, cloud-like shapes didn’t fool him. He was going to die here; stranded on this winding country road, trapped by a seemingly endless procession of sheep. He wished, not for the first time since he left London, that he’d never agreed to take a vacation.

He should have ignored his boss’ well-meaning suggestion that he get out of town for a bit to take a breather. He should have waved off his doctor’s gentle warnings regarding burn out and the possibility of stress-induced ulcers. His father had worked doggedly on the square mile since Jules could remember, and he was, well, mostly fine. Besides, Jules was still young, not even 25 yet, and healthy. He took better care of himself than just about anyone he knew.

Putting in long hours at this point in his career was to be expected. A job with any of the banks or firms—whether you were still going to the City each day like him or over at Canary Wharf—was not for the faint of heart. He’d known that going in. He’d survived the London School of Economics. And if he hadn’t taken any time off since things with Claude ended, so what?

 _That was only, what... June, May, ... oh, almost a year ago now,_ Jules thought, frowning. _Whatever, it’s not like I’m avoiding dating. I’ve gone out with plenty of guys since. They were simply all awful, so why waste any more time on them?_

Besides, at least this way he wouldn’t be leaving behind a distraught suitor when he inevitably perished out here. If not directly due to the sheep, then certainly because he’d somehow gotten hopelessly turned around, and the satnav didn’t seem to recognize his current location as being a road.

 _I wonder what the ratio of sheep to human beings is out here,_ he thought idly, leaning on the horn a few more times. It didn’t do any good. The woolly monsters closest to the car startled a bit, but they quickly got used to his frustrated attempts to scare them and kept flowing around the vehicle like so many whitecaps in choppy water. Even the baby ones were suspect; their still-clumsy cuteness as they gamboled around their mothers’ legs clearly concealing the soulless evil inside.

An aberration in the uniform sea of white caught his eye. For a confused moment, Jules thought one of the ungulates had stood up on its hind legs, until he realized that he was looking at a human figure. A shepherd boy—no, a young man, probably not too far in age from him—had turned the bend in the road, walking amidst the beasts. With a mop of pale, wind-blown blond curls on his head, he was hardly distinguishable from his herd of sheep, at least at a distance.

Catching Jules’ eye as he got closer to the car, the man waved and smiled. He was wearing a red and black kilt and a big woolly grandpa sweater in an unattractive shade of oatmeal. With sheep all around and hilly landscapes in the background, it looked like he was stepping out of a picture on a postcard.

 _I thought they only wore kilts like that at tourist traps or the bagpipe games or whatever,_ Jules thought to himself.

Debating for a few seconds whether to get out of the car, he decided that if the shepherd were watching, none of the sheep were likely to try anything. Pulling on the door handle and stepping out, Jules confronted the person responsible for the never-ending parade of terrifying creatures. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the obnoxious bleating.

“How rude!” he said, mostly directed at the sheep, then turning to the shepherd, “These animals don’t belong on the road! I swear, if I end up with damage from livestock on this vehicle—”

As soon as Jules shut the door, it was obvious he’d made a huge mistake. He’d failed to account for the presence of a lively black and white sheep dog, which was now running full tilt toward him, big pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. It jumped energetically around him, bumping into his legs and stepping all over his leather boots with muddy paws.

“Ach! That’ll do, Tibby,” said the shepherd, jogging over. The dog ran back to him just as excitedly, not quite settling down. “Oh! A'hm so sorry! Hello! Apologies fer Tibs here, she’s a spirited one. I take it ye’re nae from around these parts?” His accent was thick, probably in a way that many would call ‘charming’.

“What gave it away? Was it the lost and confused look on my face?” Jules couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of his voice.

“More tha sight o’ a rental on a farmin’ side-road, really,” replied the shepherd in a much more genial tone.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect to end up in the sheep-fucker backwaters quite so soon, but the satnav had other ideas, apparently.”

Probably not the best thing Jules could have said to the man whose horde of potentially rabid livestock currently had him fenced in on all sides. Also the man who was his best hope at getting directions out of this rural hellscape. He hadn’t seen another soul for the last couple of miles, at least. The hundreds (thousands?) of sheep didn’t count. Sheep were clearly demon creatures put on this planet to torment him.

In a show of tremendous patience and good humour, the shepherd merely smiled, obviously trying his best to fight a laugh. “Aye, tha one in the dash ain’t much use fer unmarked roads. Where’re ye headin’?”

“A village called—” Jules had to look in the car window at the destination name on the navigation display, “East Braebaud.”

“Yer in luck, then. It’s nae far. Have a mobile on ye?”

Jules dug his phone out of his pocket. Still in data range, thank the telecom gods.

“Try Google Maps, it’s a far sight better out’a tha cities than the built-in navs,” the shepherd continued, “Keep ahn this road an' left a’ the fork. Tha’ll hae ye back to tha main route.”

Jules let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you very much.”

“Nae worries! Sorry again abou’ tha flock. I dinnae expect anyone to be travelin’ this way,” he smiled wider, round cheeks dimpling. “I hope ye enjoy Scotland!”

“Provided I don’t end up in the path of another sheep stampede, I’m sure I will,” Jules found it increasingly difficult to remain angry at the soft-spoken shepherd, who had let out a laugh at that.

“Aye, hae a good journey!” said the man, waving and turning away, “Tiberius, walk up!” The clear command brought the dog to attention as the shepherd moved out of the path of the car.

Jules watched as the dog followed up the rear of the sheep, which had finished passing during their conversation, then turned the key in the ignition and sped away.

 

It wasn’t long before Jules reached his intended destination, a weathered sign reading ‘ _Walcome tae East Braebaud’_ greeting him. The beautifully restored historic bed and breakfast was visible immediately, just down the road. Finally, the end of his frustrations for the day was in sight.  

Pulling in to the small dirt lot across the road, Jules got his suitcase out of the boot and began dragging it along the damp ground. A task made more arduous as the little wheels got coated in mud, then clattered near-useless along the cobblestone walkway to the entrance. _Couldn’t they pave this? Ugh. Country savages._

The quaint building was a very interestingly constructed split-level; with stairs leading up to the main residence, and an adjoining pub at ground level, offset from the storey divisions of the other half. A newly-painted wooden sign just under the roof of the pub proclaimed it to be ‘ _T_ _he Equinox Public House & Inn_’. The lettering had been done in a Victorian typeface—to match the rest of the building stylistically—and was bookended by paintings of two trees; one with bright green leaves and buds, the other with fiery-coloured ones falling away.

After hauling his suitcase up the stairs, Jules went to knock and noticed a sign on the door:

**Checking in after 6 PM?**

**Come down to the pub!**

Looking at his watch and letting out an audible sigh, Jules decided to leave his bags where they were, dropping the satchel he had slung over his shoulder. _Whatever! If anyone decides to run off with them, there are probably only about five possible culprits in this entire place._

Entering the pub, Jules was greeted by the sight of warm leather seating and dark wood. Something delicious-smelling wafted through from the doors to the kitchen. The walls were covered in vintage whisky and beer advertisements, interspersed with the occasional tasteful landscape painting. A fireplace in the wall shared with the residential side of the building took the dampness out of the air, soft crackling noises playing counterpoint to the sounds of glasses clinking and conversation from a few scattered patrons.

“Ah, hello! Ye must be our guest, then,” said the man behind the bar, smiling wide. Jules finally took notice of him, and just barely managed to avoid staring open-mouthed. He had an _eyepatch_.

 _Of course I would end up choosing to stay in the one place in Scotland that probably thinks it’s hilarious to have a pirate for a bartender_ , Jules thought to himself.

“Hello, I should have a reservation—”

“Absolutely, let’s go see Alec, who emailed ye. He handles all the online stuff,” said the man, putting down the polishing cloth he’d been holding and coming around the bar. “I’m Marcus, the other owner. Nice ta meet ye.” His accent was quite mild compared to the shepherd from earlier.

“Jules,” he replied, and shook the hand Marcus had extended. He had a firm grip, but didn’t squeeze.

Marcus led him up the steps leading from the pub to the foyer of the main building. A skinny, pale man with dark hair that obscured half his face was working at the computer on the reception desk. The desk right behind the door Jules had originally gone to.

“Why the sign saying to go to the pub?” asked Jules, a little miffed.

“Ah, yes. That’s just in case it’s busy during dinner hours and we both need ta be down there. We mightn’t hear a guest come in if it’s a bit rowdy.”

“Oh. Well, my reservation should be under Jules Waverley,” he said, turning towards the desk again.

Alec unlocked a drawer and retrieved a set of keys—handing them to him with a slim folder of information—then pointed at the room number written on the first page and gestured up the main staircase. Without saying a word, he returned to the screen, continuing to type.

 _Rude_ , thought Jules. _Not winning any points for hospitality, and that_ will _be reflected in my review!_

Marcus spoke from behind him and Jules started, having almost forgotten he was there.

“Do ye have any bags I can fetch?”

“Oh, right here,” said Jules, moving to open the front door. It was made of heavy, engraved wood, matching the trim inside.

“Ah, ye didn’t need to drag them all the way up! Sorry, I could’ve brought them for ye.” Marcus grabbed Jules’ satchel with one hand and hefted the entire suitcase with the other, as if they weighed the same. “All right, I’ll show ye to the room.”

Jules admired the view in front of him as he followed Marcus up the stairs. Once you got used to the eyepatch, he was quite handsome, really. And nobody in their right mind would complain about those arms.

“Did ye have a good trip up?” asked Marcus, speaking loud enough for his voice to carry behind him as they ascended.

“Apart from getting lost and being swarmed by a rogue herd of livestock, I suppose so. If I never see another sheep again, it will be too soon!”

Marcus’ laugh echoed in the hall of the upper floor. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but those won’t be the last ones ye see around here.”

“Ughhhhhhhh…”

Upon entering the room, Marcus set down both bags by the closet and pointed out a few things. Watching him gesture, Jules noticed the engraved platinum ring on his left hand, and realized it matched the rather smaller one which had glinted on Alec’s hand as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

_Really? Okay, then. Whatever, he must be a weirdo, anyway._

“Right, so if ye need anything else, look in the info packet, or just ask. Umm, ask me, preferably. Alec’s not much a one for talking,” Marcus shrugged apologetically. “Are ye hungry? We’ve got some good options in the pub, or I can suggest places nearby.”

Jules shook his head, “No, thank you. Right now I really just want a shower and a nap.”

“Right, long day o’ travelling,” he nodded, stepping through the door into the hall. “Kitchen’s open ‘til 10 if ye get peckish, but I can probably find something for ye even afterwards. Breakfast is any time after 7, but feel free to sleep in.”

Jules thanked him again and closed the door. He tossed his suitcase open haphazardly, hanging a few things to prevent them wrinkling further, then went over to look out the large double window. It faced away from the road, towards rolling hills that were illuminated by the sunset peaking through dissipating cloud cover. It _was_ rather beautiful.

Maybe this would end up being a nice place to vacation, after all. He was fairly sure now that he wasn’t going to get axe-murdered by the silent goth and overly-friendly pirate that owned the place, so that was a plus. At the moment, though, all he wanted was to get into a steaming hot shower and relax. The rest of Scotland could wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name reference again, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)  
> Anna = Cain's sister

Jules awoke to his stomach growling and rolled over to look at the alarm clock next to the bed. _9:13, okay. Enough time to get downstairs and order dinner_.

He tossed on fresh underwear and a soft grey t-shirt before heading into the bathroom to tame the mess his hair had become, having gone to sleep without drying it after his shower. Pulling on a pair of jeans and lightweight v-neck sweater from his suitcase, he took a moment to relish how much more human he felt in fresh clothes after a nice long nap. He was ready to face the world again.

“Ah, Jules, we were takin’ bets on whether ye’d come down again tonight!” Marcus greeted him as he entered the pub and sat on one of the barstools.

Most of the diners from earlier in the evening had cleared out, though sitting at one of the tables closest to the bar was an interesting sight; a younger man than most of the patrons Jules had seen previously. His messy black hair was cut to a few different lengths and dyed with bright turquoise streaks in the front. He was lounging half-sideways in his chair, arm draped over the back of the adjacent seat, in which sat Alec.

The quiet man tapped the table and his messy-haired friend scowled, fishing a crumpled fiver from his front pocket and depositing it on the wood surface. Alec snatched it up, then shot a meaningful look over at Marcus, who shook his head and chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, ye’ll get your winnings when we close up for the night. I’m busy right now!” he turned back to Jules, passing him a menu. “If ye can decide quickly, Anna’s still in the kitchen. It’s not a huge selection, but we change it up regularly, depending on what Alec has growing in the back garden, and what’s in season from the local farms. Unfortunately we’re out o’ the specials for today already.”

Deciding to play it safe, Jules ordered the pasta dish.

“Good choice. Can I get ye something ta drink in the meanwhile?”

“Do you have a wine list?” Jules asked. The messy-haired man behind him snorted, but went back to staring at his phone when Jules turned to glare.

_Ugh! Trash in Scotland is just as obvious as trash in England. Can_ _’t make_ that _quaint with a rural setting._

“Well, that might be as close t’ an introduction as ye get with Sachairi,” said Marcus, interrupting Jules’ train of thought while he fetched a wine card. “He’s our chef Anna’s brother.”

Looking over the options, Jules ordered the nicest white available by the glass. A whole bottle to himself might be overkill on the first night, he figured. When Marcus set it down in front of him, Jules raised it to his nose, taking a sniff. Bright fruity and oak notes. He took a sip, immediately feeling more relaxed.

“So, do ye have any big plans for tomorrow?” Marcus asked. Apparently Jules was not going to be left in peace to drink his wine.

“Sleeping in? I don’t know,” he huffed, starting to feel exasperated again. “I thought the whole point of coming to this part of the country was to not do much!”

Marcus laughed heartily, almost obscuring the sound of another snort from the table at which Alec and Sachairi sat. Jules could guess who had made it, though.

“Aye, it is a nice quiet place ta rest if that’s what ye’d like. Though yer stay is long enough that I recommend considering some day trips to the local sights. Plenty ta do around here. It’s not all sheep, I promise, cross me heart!” The one-eyed man actually made a cross motion to emphasize his statement before continuing. “If ye’d like, we could find one of the locals willing ta show ye around a loch if they’ve got a free afternoon. Most o’ the tourists who come through here like picnics by the water; it’s pretty scenery, and a nice relaxing way ta spend the day.”

“Hmmmm,” debated Jules aloud, “So long as there are no livestock involved.”

“Ha! Excellent. I’m sure that with the worst of lambing season over, ye can convince one o’ the lads from the village. Sachairi here knows the area pretty well. Or me mate Aidan, who’s one o’ the local farmers. He’s probably due for a day off, anyway—” Marcus looked up at the sound of the pub door opening; a gentle bell chimed to announce the arrival of a new customer.

Through the doorway walked a short-ish blond man. Jules turned back to his glass before it could register fully, then almost choked on the wine. He did a double take, belatedly realizing who the man was.

“Speak o’ the devil!” said Marcus happily, “Evenin’ Aidan!”

Aidan cracked a big smile, just like he had on that accursed side-road. But something was different… _That awful sweater is gone!_ Jules noted, admiring the perfectly-weathered leather jacket the shepherd sported, instead. Its deep brown colour was much more flattering with his pale, pinkish complexion, and also went nicely with the red and black of the kilt he still wore.

“Fair good e’en, Marcus! Whit like are ye?”

“Not bad, yerself?”

“Ah’m right braw t’day.”

“Glad ta hear it. I was just suggesting that our visitor here might want ta get a loch tour from ye,” said Marcus, gesturing over at Jules, who felt the tips of his ears go red with embarrassment. “Jules, meet Aidan. He’s the one I was just talkin’ about.”

“We’ve met, actually,” Jules said in a clipped voice.

“Aye, though we dinnae get a proper introduction afore. Ah’m glad tae meet ye, Jules,” replied Aidan, holding out his hand and smiling.

Jules couldn’t detect any sarcasm in what the man had said, though with that accent, who knew?

“Are you stalking me?” he asked, taking the proffered hand; finding it warm and dry, with some calluses on the fingers and edge of the palm. Aidan had a much gentler handshake than Marcus. _He_ _’d never make it in the City_ , thought Jules, involuntarily.

Aidan laughed, replying, “Nae, Ah’d be in tha pub t’night regardless. Though I admit, I did wonder if ye’d be, when ye mentioned East Braebaud.”

Marcus had cocked his head to the side, staring at the two of them through their exchange. A moment later his visible eye widened and he laughed again. “Yer kiddin’ me! It was Aidan’s sheep that had ye trapped on the way here? Ha! They get away from Tibby?”

“Ach, nae! She an’ I were movin’ the beasties tae another pasture along th’ loaning. Jules’ haed taken a wrong turn on tae it, apparently. Tibby’s been daein’ a pure dead brilliant job fer her first lambin’ season,” Aidan explained, moving over to the coat hooks on the wall and taking off his jacket. Beneath it he only had on a black t-shirt.

_Well, that_ _’s even more of an improvement,_ thought Jules, noticing how nicely the garment showed off Aidan’s softly muscled arms and broad chest. He felt his face heat and looked down into his wine glass as the shepherd came over to the bar and pulled up a stool next to him.

“You come ta have a spot o’ supper, Aidan?” Marcus asked, leaning back on the counter against the wall.

“Nae, Ah’m all full up on me ma’s cookin’. Jus’ came fer a bevvy and a blether. Though ye can tell Anna Ah’m sorry I cannae manage whate’er she’s whipped up—it smells magic!”

With similarly excellent timing, a dark-haired woman Jules could only assume was Anna came out from the back, carrying a steaming plate of pasta. 

“Ye can tell ‘er yerself, Mr. MacSween!” she said in a sassy voice, setting the food down in front of Jules and wrapping her arms around Aidan in a big hug.

“Ah, Anna! None o’ tha Mister nonsense. How’re ye, hen?”

Jules couldn’t help himself, curiosity getting the better of him. “MacSween? Like the haggis company?” he asked, breaking in on their conversation. 

Everyone else in the room burst out in laughter and Jules looked from one to the other of them, slightly bewildered.

“Ach, nae relation! Though yer not th’ first tae ask, an’ ye’ll not be the last.”

“Annnnnnaaaaaa... Are ye near done? Alec won mysel’ last fiver an’ the patter’s shite. Let’s gae back tae the flat,” whined Sachairi, though exactly what the man meant by any of that nearly unintelligible collection of sounds, Jules didn’t know and didn’t care. He busied himself with starting in on the plate of pasta, pleasantly surprised by how tasty it was.

“Quit yer whingeing, Sachairi! Mysel’ well aware tha were nae yer last fiver, unless ye spent th’ whole paycheque t’day,” replied his sister, slightly more understandable, though something about their accents was particularly challenging for Jules compared to the other Scots in the room.

“Ah’m owing ye a few rounds anyway, Sachairi, fer all yer help wi’ the lambs,” Aidan broke in, obviously trying to placate the messy-haired man, “Marcus, get ‘im one an’ put it on mine.”

“Another glass o’ what yer drinkin’?” the man behind the bar asked.

“Nae! If Aidan’s payin’, Mysel’ hae somethin’ more dear than this shite brew!”

With the rest of the people in the room apparently enthralled by a rousing discussion of which ale was the best choice, Jules returned to his meal. He only managed a few moments of eating in peace, though.

Aidan turned in his chair and asked: “Are ye enjoyin’ it? Anna’s a fab cook.”

“I am,” replied Jules, downing the last of his wine while trying to figure out what else to say. “So, you aren’t the wealthy heir to a prepared meats empire, then?”

Aidan laughed again, quieter this time. Jules wondered at the fact that he was only now noticing the musical quality of the other man’s laugh, and chalked it up to the distraction of the others.

“Nae, sorry tae disappoint. Ah’m merely a humble farmer.”

“Unsurprising. I can’t imagine anyone with an empire spanning Tesco to Waitrose choosing to—”

“Live in tha sheep-fucker backwaters?” Aidan said, eyes glittering mischievously. 

_Damn, he_ _’s quick._

“Oh no! Jules, ye didn’t, did ye?” Marcus asked, having apparently finished with the great beer debate and returning to his other customers. “If ye implied Aidan’s a sheep fucker… ah, we’ll never hear the end o’ it!”

Jules drew himself up in his chair and looked down his nose at the two of them. “Ugh, hardly! I merely suggested that I was lost in an area which could _potentially_ be home to sheep fuckers. I didn’t mean him, specifically.”

“A fair assumption, Ah’d say. What abou’ ye, Marcus?”

The taller man held both his hands up in front of his chest, palms facing out. “Nope, I’m not gettin’ inta it. How ‘bout I get ye a drink, instead?”

“Aye, a wee dram would suit me,” Aidan nodded, and Marcus went to the shelf behind the bar for a bottle of whisky. “Oh! Now, where’d I leave off? Ach, yes, most people think golf’s our national sport, but dae ye ken it’s actually sheep fucking? Long history o’ sheep fucking in Scotland. Most a th’ tour guides would nae tell ye tha!”

Marcus deposited a glass of whisky and small carafe of water on the top of the bar. “Aidan, yer awful. Don’t harass the guests!”

“Marcus, Ah’m hurt!” he replied, putting a hand over his heart, “I was only giein’ yer lovely guest a taste a th’ true Scottish experience, is all!”

Marcus shook his head in the manner of someone long used to humouring a friend’s antics, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms.

“I ken ye’d like ta see some lochs, but I could also take ye tae the museum o’ sheep fucking, if ye like. It’s just two counties o’er, about four days as th’ herd walks,” Aidan continued, smirking.

“ _God!_ I’m sorry, okay?” spat Jules, trying to keep his voice level and not quite succeeding, “I was a complete arse earlier. Trust me, I know.” He shot a glare at the man beside him, but couldn’t maintain it when he saw how Aidan’s face had fallen.

“O- oh, nae! Ah’m th’ one needin’ tae apologize…” replied the shepherd quietly, his big eyes earnest, boring into Jules’.

“For what?” Jules snapped, breaking their tense gaze to look down at where his hands had balled into fists in his lap. “ _I_ was rude. You have every right to be annoyed.”

_Ugh, could this be any more awkward? I could just die!_ Jules thought, noticing that even Marcus had busied himself with the glasses, pretending not to listen _._

Aidan shook his head, tousled hair bouncing. “Ah’m nae angry. Was just teasin’ ye, haeing a wee bit o’ fun…” Jules started at the feeling of a hand on his upper arm, warm and solid. “I dinnae mean tae upset ye, Jules. Ah’m fair sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m not upset!” said Jules, shrugging his shoulder out of the other man’s grasp. His slightly erratic respiration belied the statement.

“Umm, le’ me buy ye a drink, tae make it up t’ ye?” Aidan asked, almost timidly. “An after-dinner whisky is an excellent way t’ kick off yer time in Scotland.”

Jules inhaled and exhaled deeply before glancing over at the shepherd, who had curled in on himself a little and looked distressed. _Ugh, how am I supposed to resist that kicked puppy look?_ he thought, sighing, and decided to take the olive branch being offered.

“Fine. What are you drinking?”

Aidan’s face lit up immediately, and Jules felt a strange warmth flood his chest at the sight of the other man’s smile.

“Tha Deanston Virgin Oak,” answered Aidan excitedly, “It’s one o’ the local distilleries. Nice Highland whisky, on th’ fruity side.”

“Single malt?” asked Jules.

“Aye.”

“Good. I’d rather drink piss than a blend, and I don’t like them too peaty.”

“Me neither!” Aidan was much cheerier, now. He called to Marcus, who had drifted over to the table at which Sachairi and Alec were still drinking their beers. “Oi, Marcus, anuther dram on mah tab, fer this fine gentleman.”

Jules nosed the glass and took a small sip of the neat drink. “Mmmm, you’re right, that is quite nice. I’ve never tried this distiller before.” He poured a few drops of water from the carafe into his glass, swishing it slightly and smelling it again.

“Aye, Glengoyne’s th’ most well-known frae this area. Deanston’s just as good, in mah opinion, an’ easier on th’ purse.”

They sat in silence, sipping from their glasses, Jules uncertain what to say next.

“So, did ye get a chance ta discuss visiting one o’ the lochs, yet?” Marcus asked, coming to their rescue, “If ye want t’ order a picnic lunch ta take with, Anna can whip one up an’ get it packed the morning of.”

“No, we hadn’t,” replied Jules when Aidan said nothing, looking over at the shepherd. “I don’t know any lochs other than Loch Ness, and I take it that’s not near here.”

“Ha! Nae, tha’d be up in th’ Highlands proper,” said Aidan, “Most a th’ folk visitin’ tha Trossachs want tae see Loch Lomond—prolly ‘cause it’s the biggest—though Loch Katrine’s prettier, Ah’d say.”

“Well, if you aren’t busy, can I hire you as a guide sometime this week?”

“O- oh! Nae hirin’ necessary. Ah’d be happy tae show ye around… besides, Ah’ll prolly be a more pleasant guide than Sachairi,” he added in a stage whisper.

“Ach, get tae fuck, Aidan!” came the ornery reply from the table. Aidan smiled again, and Jules couldn’t help the corners of his own mouth turning up.

“There’s a Victorian steamship if ye’d like tae book a tour cruise, too. Quite tha view, frae th’ boat, if yer interested in tha sort o’ thing.”

Jules nodded. “What day were you thinking?”

Aidan turned in his seat again. “Oi, Sachairi, yer still comin’ by th’morra, yeah?”

“Aye. Bu’ dinnae push it, ye chancer,” replied the messy-haired man, still in an ill-temper.

“Thank ye, Ah’ll see ye th’ usual time then,” said Aidan before turning back toward Jules. “Ah can dae any o’ the nex’ two days.”

After working out lunch arrangements with Anna and finishing off their whiskys, Aidan was stifling yawns.

“Right, Ah’ll come round the back o’ noon, then?”

“Yes. I’ll see you then,” replied Jules, already starting towards the stairs leading up to the inn.

“Brilliant. Good night, Jules!”

“’Night.”

As he reached the landing, Jules could just hear Aidan saying goodbye to the rest of the assembled company, a few more musical laughs drifting up the stairs behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I need to state my undying love for *really* peaty scotch. Give me all your Islay single malts. Jules & Aidan's opinions do not reflect those of the author -- they're just weak. If you can't appreciate what my father describes as "smouldering tire fire" notes, you have not yet grasped the transcendental experience of a great whisky. Which, it's obvious, he hasn't, based on that uncharitable description of the smoky quality of really excellent scotch. 
> 
> Feel free to argue whisky with me in the comments, or on tumblr, where there is even more [Scottish AU nonsense](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter was getting obscenely long, so I broke the first section off to become a standalone chapter. Enjoy this riveting tale of Jules eating a full Scottish breakfast. I promise their trip to the loch will be up soon! 
> 
> Name reference again, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos

Jules woke before his alarm, sunlight streaming between the slats of the wooden blinds which covered the windows in his bedroom. Laying in the comfortable bed, though not quite as comfortable as his bed at home— _oh the hardships of life on the road_ —he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling for a few moments, just relaxing. Enjoying the surprising lack of pressing concerns which usually filled his mind as soon as he was aware enough for them. Eventually he threw back the duvet and padded out of bed to perform his morning ablutions. Coming back into the bedroom, Jules crossed to the big double windows and opened the blinds, pale light spilling into every corner of the space. Looking out into the back yard, Jules was happy to see that the weather seemed pleasant. It was unlikely their trip to the loch would get rained out. He also spied Marcus,  mowing the lawn below. _Ugh, physical labour before 11 AM? Just shoot me._

When he went to pick out clothes, Jules grabbed the outfit he had worn for just a few hours the night before, then immediately set it down again, remembering that Aidan had seen him in it already. _How gauche would that be?_ he thought.

Not wanting to give the impression of carelessness when his guide for the day arrived, he selected a different sweater; his favourite deep turquoise one, which really brought out the green of his eyes. After ensuring that his hair was perfectly coiffed, with no stray locks making a break for it, Jules nodded at the handsome figure staring back at him in the mirror of the ensuite bathroom and headed downstairs to see about breakfast.

The sound of a keyboard clattering greeted him when he reached the foyer. As expected, Alec was seated at the reception desk, attention focused on the screen in front of him. Jules was about to clear his throat when the silent man looked up, meeting his eyes from behind that ever-present sweep of dark bangs—his not-quite-one-eyed stare far more unnerving than the literally one-eyed stare of his much more personable partner. Before Jules could begin enquiring about anything, Alec pointed down the hallway and returned to whatever he was typing.

 _Hmph! What if I had wanted something_ other _than a morning meal?_ Jules thought, still unimpressed by his second host.

Jules found his way to the breakfast room, which was empty. He probably could have followed his nose and not had to bother with the little creep behind the desk at all. Something wafting from the self-serve table smelled absolutely wonderful; warm and homey, though not quite familiar. The windows along one side of the room were letting in plenty of daylight. Combined with a few warm bulbs overhead, the dining area was bright and cozy. He grabbed a plate from the stack of clean ones and began to assess his choices. It was a good thing he hadn’t placed anything on the plate yet, though, because it nearly dropped to the ground when Jules was startled by an unexpected greeting.

“Good mornin’, Jules!” Marcus’ deep voice boomed out from behind him, “How did ye sleep?”

Turning to face the source of the noise, Jules tried not to look like he’d just about lost hold of his dish. “Good morning, Marcus. I slept well, thank you. I thought you were out back working?” The sharp, green scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with the aromas of the buffet now that the man had fully entered the room.

“Aye, that I was. But Alec messaged ta let me know ye were up and about. Seein’ as it’s yer first mornin’ with us, I figured I’d come in and show ye how things are set up,” he began, pointing out the various stations as he talked, “Fer early risers, the cereal and porridge is always out. Milk’s in the little fridge there, along with whatever juices we’ve got, and some yoghurt. Fruit and toast live on that table, next ta the tea selection and kettle. By eight in the morning, I’ve usually got the hot dishes ready ta go. Today we’ve got fresh tattie scones, rashers, square sausage, and if ye feel like eggs, I can whip some up.”

 

Jules read the news on his phone once Marcus had returned to his work for the day, stuffing himself with a full Scottish breakfast as he pined a bit for the animated discussion of the office. _How I agreed to go on vacation so soon after the start of the fiscal year, I will never understand. Ridiculous!_ Luckily, the potato scones were a delicious distraction. Certainly the best he’d ever tried, though nobody would ever convince him that they deserved to share the same name as a proper scone.

After he’d finished eating, Jules checked the time and went back up to his room to grab a light jacket, in case the Spring weather decided to be changeable. As he was unpacking a few more things, Jules heard the big wooden front door open and shut, followed by a friendly greeting spoken in a thicker accent. Looking at the clock, it was ten past noon. _Well, at least he has the decency to be punctual_ , thought Jules as he turned out the light and shut the door behind him, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything.

Descending the staircase again, Jules saw what was quickly becoming a familiar sight: red and black plaid, and a shock of pale blond hair. Beneath that tousled mop were bright blue eyes that looked up to meet his.

“Ah, good afternoon, Jules! Ready tae see some o’ the glorious Scottish countryside?”

“Good afternoon. I _suppose_ as long as I’m here, I may as well,” Jules answered, coolly. “Is… that a picnic basket?”

“Aye, ‘tis. Ye wanted t’ hae a picnic, an’ I figured ye’d nae brought one wi’ ye all the way here,” he shrugged, the wicker basket lifting with his arms, which were covered by that leather jacket again. 

“You have a picnic basket... What are you, even?” Jules asked, still in a bit of a state of disbelief over how much more of a caricature of idyllic country life this man could get. The shepherd actually let out a giggle at that. The whole interaction was so _indecently_ adorable it made his breakfast sit funny in his stomach.

“Well, uh, technically I did borrow it frae my ma,” Aidan added.

 _And he_ _’s a mummy’s boy. Lord help me_ , thought Jules.

“Well, seeing as we have the appropriate dinnerware, we just need food to go with,” Jules turned to the reception desk, where Alec apparently hadn’t moved a muscle apart from his fingers since before breakfast. His eyes were on the screen, but Jules could swear he’d felt someone’s gaze boring into him just moments before. There was no way the little weirdo hadn’t been following their conversation. “Excuse me! Where should I pick up the lunch order I placed yesterday night?”

The skinny man looked up at him from under that dark forelock, then got up from his chair without a word.

“Umm, were you going to answer my question?” Jules added, impatiently.

Alec merely looked at him again, with one eyebrow raised and a blank expression. He signalled with his hand in a gesture that Jules could only interpret as ‘ _wait here_ ’, and turned to go down the stairs at the other side of the foyer, which led to the pub.

“Is he always that weird?” Jules asked Aidan when he assumed the shorter proprietor was out of earshot, having heard the door to the pub close.

“Alec? Ach, he’s just quiet—ye’ll get used tae it. He’s fair nice, though ’e can take a while t’ warm up tae ye.”

“Whatever,” Jules huffed. Luckily, Marcus chose that moment to come in through the back again, interrupting their quickly-getting-awkward conversation.

“Aidan! How are ye? I just finished with the lawn an’ figured I might still catch ye before ye run off with Jules.”

“Ah’m awright t’day, yerself?”

“Can’t complain. Weather’s nice fer this time o’ year. Ye’ll have a good afternoon at the loch!”

Alec came back up the stairs, carrying a big paper bag, which he deposited on the reception counter beside Jules before going to stand next to Marcus. The taller man swung one big arm over Alec’s shoulders and pulled him into his side.

“Thank you, Alec,” Jules said, acknowledging the speedy delivery. Alec nodded back at him, almost shyly, though that impression might have had more to do with how he was dwarfed by the much larger man beside him, around whose waist his arms now rested.

“Oh, Aidan, before ye go, would ye like ta take some of ma’s famous tattie scones for the road?” asked Marcus.

“Is tha the delicious smell waftin’ through? Dae ye e’en hae t’ ask, Marcus?”

“I figured that might be the case! Ye always did like ‘em.”

“An’ ye make ‘em just as well as her.”

“Ye flatterer! If ye don’t stop, ye’ll make me blush!”

“Aye, tha’d be a sight!”

After Marcus had returned with some scones wrapped up, Jules and Aidan said goodbye to the other men and headed out to the parking lot. They ended up taking Jules’ rental with Aidan behind the wheel, seeing as he knew the route, loading the picnic basket and food into the back seat. The drive to the loch was uneventful; Jules spent it gazing out the window at the passing scenery, thankfully spared from trying to make small talk by the podcast he’d been listening to on the drive in, which resumed playing when Aidan turned the keys in the ignition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For even more Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic discussion and nonsense, come visit me on [tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, longest chapter yet and we've finally reached their ~~first date~~ trip to the loch! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Dear Scots, please don’t hate me for any statements in the fic regarding Scottish independence. I tried to do justice to both sides in a brief space of writing (from the point of view of the character I was writing), but it’s definitely still oversimplifying a vast and complicated issue. I moved to Scotland literally the day after the results of the referendum had been announced, and Glasgow was *very* dour at that point. 
> 
> Name reference again, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)  
> Anna = Cain's sister  
> Simon = Keeler

“Wait! Where are you going?” Jules asked, a little confused as they drove past the obvious turn-off for the ferry dock. “Wasn’t that our destination?”

“Oh, aye, later t’day. But we dinnae need tae hit the restaurants, an’ there’s anuther parkin’ area just a wee bit further,” replied the Scot, “It’s much nicer fer a picnic an’ walk. Plus, ye’ll get tae see the river tha connects Loch Katrine an’ Loch Achray. Oh! An’ we’ll be near the slopes o’ Ben Venue, th’ most central mountain in the Trossachs.”

“Fine. So long as we can make it back in time for the steamship tour. I booked the last one of the afternoon for us yesterday night.”

“Oh! Did ye? Then we’re set!” Aidan said, excitedly. “Though ye prolly dinnae need t’ hae booked ahead a’ this time o’ year. Is nae quite peak tourist season, yet.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Jules said, a little miffed at being questioned for planning ahead.

“Aye that! How much dae I owe ye fer lunch an’ the boat?”

“Nothing, of course,” Jules replied, confused by the other man even asking, “You’ve taken the day off to play tour guide for me. It’s the least I can do, really.”

“If yer certain…” Aidan left the end of his sentence hanging like a question.

“Don’t even mention it,” said Jules, waving his hand at the other man, worried he might try to insist. _And how awkward would that be?_

Luckily, they’d arrived and the discussion dropped.

 

“Welcome tae Loch Katrine!” Aidan exclaimed, gesturing at the dark, shining water using his outstretched arm when they passed through the stand of trees between the car park and the land surrounding the loch.

 _Well, I guess it is quite pretty_ , thought Jules as he took in the view. Aidan continued rattling off facts about the area as they walked leisurely toward the water, searching for a good spot to have lunch.

“As ye prolly read, the loch inspired Sir Walter Scott’s writin’. _Lady of the Lake_ is actually set at Katrine. He travelled the Trossachs a fair bit back in tha day.”

“That’s why the steamer is named after him?”

“Aye, he put this part o’ the country on th’ map. Now it’s all national park land ‘round here.”

When they’d found an agreeable patch of flat, dry ground closer to the water’s edge, Aidan spread out the blanket he’d brought. Jules helped him unpack their lunch, and was pleased to discover a nice selection of charcuterie, cheeses, crusty bread, and a variety of fresh fruit and vegetables—pre-cut for ease of eating outdoors. There were even some empire biscuits and stem ginger biscuits, which looked home-baked, for a post-meal treat. _Anna really is quite the chef_ , he thought, even happier with his choice of B&Bs.

As they ate, their conversation started out with light topics, thankfully less awkward now than the past few times they’d spoken. Jules chalked this up to not having stuck his foot in his mouth yet.

“Jules, tell me, whit d’ye dae fer work down in London?” asked Aidan.

“…how did you know I’m from London? I never told you that…” Jules asked suspiciously, “I knew it! You are a stalker!”

“Ha ha ha! O- oh, nae! Ye’ll need t’ get used tae how quick word dae travel ‘round here. Alec’s a right gossip, ‘e is!” said Aidan, seemingly amused by Jules’ notion.

“Alec? The one who doesn’t talk?”

“Aye, that’d be ‘im. He dinnae say much but he types faster than anyone, an’ could hae been a spy or somethin’, given how well he dae listen.”

 _Hmmph! Definitely_ not _happy that he_ _’s the one handling guest information,_ thought Jules. When he realized Aidan was still waiting on an answer, he sighed and gave in.

“I work in investment banking, but I won’t bore you with the details,” he said, expecting that to be the end of questioning. Most people tuned out when they heard what he worked in. 

“Well, I cannae say Ah’m fair familiar wi’ th’ industry, but dae ye work in a specific area o’ it?”

Jules was slightly taken aback by the shepherd’s curiosity, but happy to elaborate. “I’m in Mergers and Acquisitions. Advisory work, really. Currently I’m a junior risk analyst with my bank.”

“Oh, interestin’!” said Aidan.

Jules figured that really would be the end of it. _Interesting is always code for_ _“oh god, this is so boring, get me out of this conversation”._ He was even more surprised, all things considered, when the Scot continued.

“Dae ye work directly wi’ clients, or are ye a back-end, numbers bloke?”

“I handle individual client files for due diligence work, but not actual client-facing meetings or communications—yet. Maybe in another promotion or two,” he said,  “Ugh… though taking a vacation right now probably isn’t helping with that…”

“Well, um, it dae sound like a busy job! Ye need tae take a break sometime!” Aidan said cheerfully.

“I guess… at least this is a nice spot for one,” Jules said, picking at the remaining fruit.

As the sun travelled across the sky overhead, its changing angle made the water sparkle beautifully. Jules sat quietly looking around at the various sights they could see from their picnic blanket. He jumped when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder; Aidan had leaned over and was pointing at a tree not far off with his free arm.

“Look a’ tha’! A golden eagle! Ye dinnae often get th’ chance tae see one close up,” he whispered excitedly next to Jules. They sat still and watched as the bird took flight gracefully, soon soaring overhead and out of view.

Jules turned around and examined another pretty sight. With the Scot sitting so close now, the bright afternoon sun illuminated his face, letting Jules clearly see the constellation of pale—almost golden—freckles scattered across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. _How did I not notice those earlier?_ he thought to himself, observing that the cute spots also trailed along the back of the man’s neck, beneath the collar of his jacket.

Aidan caught him looking, and smiled brightly. The wan Spring sunlight paled in comparison.

 

It wasn’t long before the conversation veered to more interesting territory. Jules found himself curious to know about something he’d noticed on the drive earlier that day.

“Perhaps you can enlighten me on something I was wondering about earlier,” he started.

“Aye, Ah’ll certainly try. Put a question on me!”

“Why are there still so many ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ signs from the independence referendum in people’s windows? That was years ago, now,” As they’d made their way through the countryside, a number of the farmhouses they’d passed had signs still prominently displayed—one was even a large billboard style, faded now but still standing at the side of a field by the road. “The entire bloody UK voted to leave the European Union since then!”

“Ach, tha’s still a divisive issue, now as much as e’er,” Aidan said, solemnly, “By an’ large, Scotland dinnae vote fer Brexit. Lot’s o’ folks are fired up about independence again now, ‘cause o’ tha’.”

Jules hummed in thought, then asked: “What do you think about independence—If that isn’t too personal a question?”

Aidan frowned, “Um, well… in theory, independence is a nice idea, maybe one day it can work,” he paused, obviously thinking about his answer, “But in practice, at least fer th’ moment, Scotland’s economy isnae strong enough. The UK all together hae been performin’ much better, an’ Scotland benefits frae tha.” He shrugged, but when Jules didn’t immediately respond, kept going with his train of thought, “Speaking frae a self-interest perspective, the hill farmin’ sheep industry’s dependent on government subsidies. Ah’m sure an independent Scotland wouldnae throw agricultural workers under th’ bus, but it would be quite a lot o’ upheaval an’ uncertainty fer farmers.”

Jules was rather impressed by the extensive answer. “Well, you certainly pay more attention to politics than I would’ve expected from a sheep farmer.”

Aidan laughed at that. “Aye, well, um, when it’s nae lambin’ or shearin’ season, there can be a lot o’ downtime. Plenty o’ time tae read, ye ken?” he smiled.

“So how did you actually vote back in 2014?”

“A gentleman does nae vote an’ tell,” said Aidan, giving Jules a wink that made his insides twist funny.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me! It’s not like I can really judge.”

“Aye, right,” Aidan rolled his eyes.

“I promise not to tell Alec if you voted ‘No’!” Jules heckled him. It didn’t take much to get the Scot to relent.

“Well, sometimes ye hae t’ vote wi’ yer heart, an’ sometimes ye hae t’ vote wi’ yer head…”

“Did you vote with your head, then?” asked Jules. He watched as Aidan shook the body part in question side to side, slowly.

“Umm, nae, I dinnae… I guess Ah’ve always been too quick tae follow me heart… E’en when I ken it’s nae logical.”

“Oh my. Well, at least you’re aware of it. Better than most can say,” Jules shrugged, trying not to think about where he fell on that measure.

To avoid awkwardness in the silence, he began packing up the remainders of their picnic, putting things back into the basket. Aidan quickly moved to help him in the task, and between them they had it finished in a matter of moments. Sitting back on the blanket and wrapping his arms around his bent knees, Jules looked out at the loch.

“D’ye fancy gaeing fer a daunder roun’ the loch? We hae a bit o’ time afore the ferry, yeah?” Aidan had stood, and was looking at the sun in the sky.

 _Presumably judging the hour from it or some such outdoorsman-y nonsense_ , Jules thought.

“Sure. Warming up a bit sounds excellent right now. That wind is bloody cold!” he complained.

“Dae ye want my jacket? I dinnae want ye tae catch a chill,” Aidan offered graciously.

“Hmph! Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll freeze, and that’s no good, either,” Jules sniffed, crossing his arms, as much to keep his hands warm as give the appearance of standing his ground.

“Aye, I suppose no’. It’s quite nippy t’day, tha’s fer sure,” replied the Scot, picking up the blanket and shaking it off once Jules had gotten to his feet. “Ye could wrap th’ blanket ‘round ye?”

“Absolutely not! Why would you even suggest that? What if someone saw me?” Jules shuddered at the thought.

Aidan shrugged and began to bring the corners of the blanket together. Once the detestable near-attempt at a fashion statement was folded over the basket, they returned to the car to ditch both, then walked back toward the water.

“Sooooo… I couldn’t help noticing that you’re wearing your kilt again,” said Jules as they wandered leisurely around the gentle bend of the loch’s perimeter, “Is that your day-to-day uniform, or are you actually just wearing it for the benefit of the tourist this time?”

“Ha ha! Oh, I just like wearin’ one,” Aidan replied, looking down at his tartan, “Hae ye e’er tried one? They’re fair comfortable, an’ practical, too, fer walkin’. Nae chafing!”

“But having exposed legs can’t be very warm. Scotland isn’t exactly tropical,” said Jules, still skeptical, “I’m wearing trousers and I’m shivering a little!”

“Oh, ye’d be surprised at hae warm th’ wool is—also breathable. An’ e’en a wee bit water repellent.” 

“It’s probably less practical on a windy day like today,” joked Jules, feeling the wind blow his hair around obnoxiously.

“Ach, tha’s still practical… if, umm… if yer lookin’ tae impress someone,” Aidan joked, winking at Jules again but unable to do so with a straight face, letting out a shy giggle afterward. “Besides, a proper kilt is made frae heavier fabric than cheap tourist ones. It dinnae get blown up near so much as ye’d expect.”

“Well… I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” said Jules, flattered and a little embarrassed by the Scot’s joke. 

They continued walking, taking in the sight of the rippling surface of the loch, assorted waterfowl, and pretty wildflowers blooming here and there. Up ahead, the shoreline took a sharp turn in towards the main body of water; like a little peninsula that came forward to nearly meet a small island.

“Oh, do you think we can go all the way out there?” asked Jules, wondering what it would be like to almost be surrounded by the loch itself.

“Only one way tae find out!” Aidan replied, forging ahead and leaving Jules to pick his way carefully through the muddier ground.

Following behind the man, Jules was in the perfect spot to watch as a particularly strong gust of wind belied Aidan’s earlier statement regarding kilts and practicality in breezy weather. Positioned further back along the thin strip of land, Jules got quite a good show. A firm, shapely show at that.

 _Oh my. Colour me impressed_ , he thought, smirking.

Aidan turned to look back at Jules, trying to maintain his composure while getting the fabric of his kilt in place again. “O- oh! Uh, well… I dinnae say tha ne’er happens… ye get used tae it,” his nonchalant answer somewhat spoiled by the furious blush accompanying it.

 _Indeed, I think I could get used to that,_ thought Jules, sidling up next to Aidan, whose progress had stalled as he held the kilt down to avoid a repeat performance while the wind continued to whistle around them.

“Well, I see you really _are_ a true Scotsman,” he said in a low voice.

If possible, Aidan blushed more; the tips of his ears and even his neck going red. It made Jules wonder just how far down that blush went, and whether he would see any more of it if the wind cooperated again.

 

After some more idle wandering, spotting a red squirrel in a patch of forest, and taking a break for biscuits and tea to help warm Jules up, they headed back to the car and drove over to the visitor centre. There were a few other people around—obviously waiting for the next ferry trip—but it wasn’t nearly as bustling as Jules had worried. Aidan was probably right; booking ahead wouldn’t have been necessary, seeing as tourist season was only just starting up. They approached the admissions booth, and were greeted by a bored-looking young woman.

“Loch Katrine Cruises, how can I help ye?” she said, in a flat voice.

“I booked ahead for the next sailing—”

“ID please.”

 _Rude._ Jules handed over his driver’s license and the girl fussed behind the window for a bit, eventually turning back to them. “Two tickets fer Mr. Waverley. Enjoy yer trip.”

_Well that didn_ _’t sound very sincere._

As they walked down the covered pier towards the boat, Aidan spoke up. “Jules Waverley. A right posh name, tha’.”

Hearing the teasing note in the Scot’s thick accent this time, Jules responded in kind: “That’s Julian Charles Augustus Waverley, Esquire, to you, peasant.”

Aidan’s eyes boggled and he cracked up, practically doubling-over in laughter, making Jules smile. It took the man a few moments to recover.

“Ah! Yer fair funny when ye want tae be, eh Jules? Got me roarin’, ye did. Ha!”

“Well, I’m not _just_ a pretty face, you know,” Jules replied saucily.

“Oh, Ah’m beginnin’ tae ken tha’!”

They boarded the _SS Sir Walter Scott_ , and Jules was quite impressed by how beautiful it was, considering its hundred-plus year lifespan working on the loch. It was a bright white boat with a cheery red and white fabric awning protecting the seats from rain—not that the day required it, considering the sun was still shining down on them. Aidan gestured for Jules to sit on the outer part of the bench, where he could have the best view of the scenery.

“I suppose I owe ye my middle name, now, huh?” Aidan said, picking up their conversation where it had left off.

“Hmm? Well, it couldn’t _possibly_ top your last name, but you may as well tell me,” Jules replied.

“Aidan Tamhas MacSween, a’ yer service,” he attempted to bow with a flourish of his hand while seated, not quite succeeding in the confines of the boat seats.

“Thomas? Well, it’s a solid name.”

“Uh, it’s actually _Tamhas_ , one o’ the Gaelic spellings. But yer right, the anglicised name would be Thomas.”

“Oh, sorry. Are Gaelic names very popular around here?” Jules asked, thinking back to Sachairi in the pub.

“Well, um, they’re a bit o’ a family tradition, frae me ma’s side,” Aidan elaborated, “Her an’ all ’er sisters hae Gaelic names; Siubhan, Aunt Muireall, Aunt Deirdre, and Aunt Caitriona.”

As the engine started up—almost silently, just the humming of it to be felt through the craft—they fell silent and listened to the tour guide, who began with an introduction to the ship and the loch.

“Still using its original triple expansion steam engines, the _SS Sir Walter Scott_ is the only surviving screw propelled steamer in regular passenger service in Scotland, and has been sailing the bonnie waters of Loch Katrine since 1902. Today, the engine has been refitted to use biofuel boilers, making it more eco-friendly, which is an important consideration because the loch is the source of Glasgow’s municipal water supply. A feat of Victorian engineering, the water flows purely by gravity more than 30 miles into the city…”

As they sailed out into the middle of the water, Jules was captivated by the sight of the forested mountains surrounding them all over again. Between that and the much appreciated heat of Aidan’s body next to his, squished close on the old bench seats, it was hard to focus on the guide’s commentary. Jules managed to catch bits and pieces about the various isles, bens—which he learned meant mountains, filing that piece of information away for later—and villages they passed. However, he was glad of the break in the middle of the loch—allowing passengers to get up and explore the below-decks to see the engine, or walk to the bow of the ship where they could stand and have an unobstructed view of their passage. Most of the other tourists seemed content to return to their seats after a cursory glance, so him and Aidan were left by themselves at the front of the boat. Sadly, the wind had died down again, so the Scot’s kilt just flapped gently around his legs. _What a pity_ , Jules couldn’t help thinking.

He also couldn’t help thinking about the ‘My Heart Will Go On’ scene from _Titanic_ , being at the rail of a ship standing next to a handsome man. Sure, it was a lake, not an ocean, and they probably weren’t going to meet any icebergs or die in a horribly romantic way—or have any nude portraiture sessions, at least not with the other tourists aboard—but the temptation to throw his arms wide open to the breeze was real. Thankfully he had more sense than to ask Aidan to be the Jack to his Rose and reenact the scene, at least not on their first day out together.

Too soon, they had to return to their seats to listen to the second half of the tour, passing by an old school house on the North shore, and Queen Victoria’s royal cottage on the South. Arriving at the port of Stronachlachar, the two disembarked for a quick walk around the charming hamlet before the return trip.

“It really is beautiful here,” remarked Jules, “I’m glad I left the decision up to you.”

“So, Jules, how come ye decided tae come here fer yer Scottish vacation?” Aidan asked, “Most folks want tae go see th’ Highlands proper—big tourist sights, ye ken?”

“Mostly I didn’t want to bother planning things ahead of time,” Jules replied, “I figured I’d decide on activities once I arrived, and could take things at a less intense pace than a planned tour.”

“An’ ye dinnae want tae see the cities like Edinburgh?”

“I’ve been to Edinburgh before, for the Fringe. And besides, the whole point of taking this trip was to relax and disconnect, so being in another big city seemed to defeat the purpose.”

“Aye that,” the Scot nodded, “But what brought the Trossachs tae yer attention? The Borders are just as relaxin’, an’ closer as well.”

“Oh, well, I had a recommendation, actually,” said Jules, “One of my supervisors at work spent some time here, and said he loved it.”

“Ach, an adventurous type, is he?”

“No, actually… he spent some time convalescing around here after being quite sick. He had a relative to stay with, so I’m pretty sure he was out here for a few months…”

“O- oh! I dae hope he’s awright now,” said Aidan, sounding concerned.

“Hmm? Yes, Simon’s fine. Back to work full-time and everything,” Jules said, then paused before adding, “But when he heard I was looking for a real ‘escape’ of a vacation, he insisted that this was the place to visit. He recommended it highly for peace, quiet, and recovery.”

Aidan frowned, his pale brows drawing together, then asked almost tentatively, “But yer nae sick, are ye?”

Jules gave a startled laugh, feeling awkward that he’d given that impression. “No! No, I’m fine. Just a bit burnt out, I guess. Hadn’t taken any time off in a while.”

“Aye, yer job dae sound like a stressful one.”

“Pfft, no more so than any other competitive field, really…”

“Well, yer colleague was right, this is a good place tae relax, and fair bonnie tae boot! Th’ Trossachs are like Scotland in miniature, ye ken? Mountains, forest, fields, lochs, they hae it all. Ye dinnae hae t’ go far fer anything ye might fancy daein’,” Aidan smiled at him warmly.

 _I can think of one thing I might fancy doing on this trip_ , Jules thought, smiling back. But he couldn’t let the opportunity for another joke pass. 

“And lucky me, I can do all of that while accompanied by sheep, right?”

Both of them cracked up at that.

 

Returning to the car after taking the steamer back across the loch, Jules was horrified by the sight of himself in the rear-view mirror. His carefully styled hair—normally so smooth and straight, falling just so—had become a tangled mess thanks to the breezy weather.

“Oh god! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jules snapped, fussing at his perfect center part, now barely recognizable. “Stupid wind!”

A little giggle escaped Aidan, and he put his hand over his mouth when Jules glared. _How dare!_ _This is a_ crisis _and he_ _’s laughing!_

“Dinnae fash yersel’,” said Aidan, then pointed at his own head, “It happens. Look a’ mine!”

“Well, not _all_ of us are born with attractively tousled locks that still manage to look decent after being blown about!” Jules huffed, though Aidan’s ensuing blush did help his annoyance fade, slightly.

 _It really is too easy to get him to do that_ _… Would it be terribly cruel of me to see how many ways I can manage it?_ Jules thought to himself.

“Uh, did ye want tae see one more thing afore headin’ back?” asked Aidan, “It’s quite close, just a wee bit South.”

“So long as it won’t involve too many people seeing me in this state,” Jules sniffed, fastening his seatbelt but continuing to run his fingers through the snags in his hair afterwards, “And _no_ tourist-y photo ops. Even ignoring this disaster on my head, stilted posing in places that have been Instagrammed to death is not something I will be a part of.”

“Okay, no photies, I promise,” said Aidan as he pulled out onto the road again.

 

It wasn’t even a quarter of an hour later when Aidan pulled the car over, but Jules had long ago forgotten his hair and practically plastered his nose to the window, watching the breathtaking scenery go past as the road climbed higher and higher.

“This lookout spot hae some o’ the finest views in all th’ region,” said the Scot as they got out.

Jules had to agree. With the sun just starting to get low in the sky, bathing everything in a warm glow, he was definitely happier to have come to Scotland now than he’d been just twenty four hours previous. He turned to look at the man standing beside him, whose loose curls were glowing a bright gold in the early evening light.

“Thank you for coming with me today. This was the perfect way to spend my first day in Scotland.”

“Oh! Ah’m glad tae hear ye enjoyed yersel’,” Aidan said. Then, with a glint in his eye, added, “Makes up fer th’ inconvenience mah flock caused ye yesterday?”

“I _suppose_ we can call it even,” Jules sighed dramatically, “…Though, if you aren’t too busy tending them, perhaps you’d be willing to show me a few more of the sights while I’m here? I have it on good authority that there are more than just lochs up in this part of the country, and I’m completely open to suggestions for where to go next.”

Aidan’s face lit up as he replied, “Aye, plenty tae see! Um, Ah’d like that… Uh, well, would ye like tae see a castle, or some ruins?”

“Yes. I trust your judgment. Surprise me.”

“Okay! Umm, I cannae dae th’morra… but the followin’ day I would be free.”

“It’s decided, then,” Jules said, turning to head back to the car. “Now, I’m absolutely _starving_.”

Aidan joined him at the vehicle. “Well, lucky fer ye, I ken a smashin’ restaurant on th’ way back.”

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: In the modern era, there has been debate over whether the tradition of wearing a kilt in the [“True Scotsman” style](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/True_Scotsman) (i.e. without undergarments) is outdated or still to be upheld. There’s also a fun little article here [comparing kilt-wearing habits of 'Yes' vs 'No' voters](https://sputniknews.com/europe/201610101046177114-scotsmen-kilts-mystery-solved/) in the Scottish independence referendum of 2014, also mentioned in this chapter. 
> 
> For even more Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic discussion and nonsense, (and somewhat ridiculous song pairing for this chapter) come visit me on [tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iiiiiiitttt's baaaaaaack! After a far too long break, a wild chapter appears! Much like the previous two chapters, this one and the one following were written together then broken up in a logical place to cut down on the ever-growing length of them. So right now you get a shorter update, and once I finish the edits on the longer part, it should be up within a few days. 
> 
> Name reference again, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)

When Jules awoke the following morning, the room was nowhere near as bright. After snoozing his alarm five times, he eventually dragged himself out of bed and opened the blinds. The weather was far less pleasant than the previous day; skies a gloomy grey, without even a hint of sun peaking through the cloud cover.

He spent his afternoon exploring the village by foot, stopping first for lunch at the chippy, which was as tasty as any other grease-soaked meal at similar establishments across the land. There really wasn’t a whole lot to see, he concluded. Farmers’ market, little café with completely unremarkable coffee, general store, a cute public square with benches and some flower beds where he read for a while until it started to rain. By the time he made it back to The Equinox, he was somewhat damper than he’d hoped to be, and went back to his room for a few hours.

Relaxing wasn’t really going as planned. He felt antsy doing nothing; a buzzing sensation under his skin, telling him he should be working on something, anything. Not being productive felt _wrong_. The distraction and activities of yesterday had been less stressful for him. His mind had been occupied enough to forget about work for the entire day, focused instead on conversation and the new sights around him. Especially the sight of a certain Scotsman.

Now he was sitting in the comfy chair in the corner of his room at the B&B, skimming through a few days of emails on his phone. Wishing he had his laptop so he could get a bit of work done. He’d purposely left it in his flat in London, knowing that if he took it with him he would spend his entire vacation on it, defeating the purpose of the entire endeavour.

Jules ate downstairs in the pub again that evening, Marcus peppering him with questions about how he enjoyed his trip to the loch yesterday. He answered positively, but noncommittally, a little bemused by the innkeeper’s apparent investment in how his trip was. Alec was there, too, listening silently as always. Apart from the intermittent tapping of his fingers on the screen of his phone; presumably texting or messaging with someone, probably Sachairi, Jules guessed. Marcus kept looping him into the conversation anyway, only to get a nod or shrug in response.

 _God, how do they manage to have a relationship like that? How does the silence not become completely oppressive_ _… smothering, even?_ Jules couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around it. Not being able to hold an intelligent conversation was the kiss of death for a one-night stand, as far as he was concerned, let alone any kind of commitment. _Is it really that unreasonable to want someone to contribute to a dialogue, even if they_ _’re mostly just responding to my thrilling anecdotes and clever observations? It’s not_ that _high a standard._

After a few drinks—seeing that it was getting late and nobody else seemed likely to walk through the door to provide a source of entertainment—Jules said good night to his hosts and went back upstairs. He tried reading again, but couldn’t focus on the words in front of his face, the story unable to hold his interest. Eventually he gave up, took a shower, and went to bed early.

 

Jules bounded out of bed the next morning with the first ring of his alarm, despite the lack of cheery sunlight for the second day in a row. He hummed to himself in the shower, then spent more time than was probably _strictly_ necessary trying on different outfits. Eventually he settled on a denim button-down ( _So fittingly rustic!_ ), deep grey grandpa cardigan with a shawl collar, and a pair of perfectly-fitting khakis which had led to multiple compliments on his butt over the past year from a variety of admirers.

After wolfing down breakfast, he sat in the foyer on a small cushioned bench and tried reading his book again. Once again, he found he couldn’t focus on it as well as he’d hoped, and the intermittent sensation of Alec’s gaze on him was both unnerving and distracting. _Ugh, would it kill him to go five minutes without being a creep?_

“Ah, mornin’, Jules!” boomed Marcus, coming in from whatever upkeep work he’d been doing.

“Good morning!” said Jules, watching Marcus’ brows rise at his friendly greeting, far more chipper than usual.

“Are ye waitin’ fer Aidan?” he asked, walking around the reception desk to plant a kiss in Alec’s hair. To Jules’ surprise, the shorter man actually smiled for once and leaned into the touch.

“I guess so, but we didn’t settle on a time... and I have no way to get in contact with him,” Jules huffed, feeling slightly silly waiting in the hallway like an excited puppy hoping its owner will return soon.

“Oh, I can text him for ye!” Marcus reached for his pocket, but the progress of his hand was arrested by Alec’s smaller one wrapping around his wrist.

Alec produced his own phone and tapped the screen a few times. Jules got up and looked over the desk, peering down like Marcus was. Presumably he was meant to be looking at the most recent messages, but the screen showed some sent last night near the top. Jules was a quick reader, and never had learned to bring his insatiable curiosity about other people under control when handed an opportunity like this on a silver platter. He scanned them all quickly, starting from the oldest one visible, the first part of which was cut off.

 

**_-don_** **_’t even know if he’s interested in men!_ **

 

            Yesterday 7:28 PM

**_..._ **

****

**_Yeah, yeah, Alec._ **

****

**_He might just be a flirty person! But when_ **

**_my kilt blew up, I was absolute beetroot,_ **

**_get me tae fuck!_ **

****

**_XD_ **

****

            Today 11:04 AM

**_When are you coming to pick up your date?_ **

**_He_** **_’s looking antsy already._ **

****

            Today 11:31 AM

**_Oh! Didn_** **_’t realise he’d be ready so early._ **

**_I_** **_’m just finished here, going to leave now._ **

****

**_And you can_** **_’t call him my date! I haven’t_ **

**_even asked him out! *blush*_ **

****

**_..._ **

 

 Jules willed himself not to be embarrassed, and settled on being slightly miffed at Alec, instead. The earlier messages had been sent during the time he’d been down in the pub for dinner, sitting right next to the man! Anyway, without more context, he really shouldn’t assume anything about what those texts meant. Aidan hadn’t actually said he was _planning_ to ask him out.

“Ah, he’ll be here any minute, then,” Marcus was  first to break the silence, rubbing at the back of his neck, obviously feeling a bit awkward.

“Oh, good,” said Jules, retrieving his book from the bench, “Thanks.”

Retreating upstairs in as slow and dignified a manner as he could, Jules dropped his book on the bed and immediately whipped out his own phone. He entered the number he’d seen at the top of Alec’s screen before he could forget.

 _Just in case_ , he justified the action to himself, taking a minute to try and forget the rest of what he’d seen on the silent man’s mobile.

After grabbing his jacket, Jules made his way down the stairs and waited on the bench again, feeling even sillier. Thankfully, both Alec and Marcus had disappeared.

It wasn’t long before Aidan arrived, and shocked Jules with his appearance. He had on that same leather jacket—currently open, exposing a plain black sweater beneath—but today he was wearing _trousers_ with it. Denim ones, at that. The kilt was nowhere to be seen. However, around the Scot’s neck was wound a yellow and black striped scarf which probably made a nice, if loud, match for his tartan; picking up on the thinner yellow threads that ran through it, as Jules could picture in his mind’s eye.

“I like your scarf,” said Jules, attempting a sincere sartorial compliment for the first time in longer than he could remember, uncertain if he was still capable of expressing such a sentiment. 

“Oh, thank ye! Badger pride,” Aidan replied with a grin.

“Did you really just make a Harry Potter reference of that calibre in a completely unironic way?”

“Aye, tha I did.”

“Are you telling me that you’re a massive nerd and I didn’t even realise it?”

Aidan let out one of those cheery laughs of his. “Aye, ye’d nae be wrong tae say tha.”

Jules sighed. _Of course he is. Because being a sheep farmer wasn_ _’t ridiculous enough already._

“Fine. Whatever. Why no kilt today?”

“S’posed tae be e’en windier t’day.”

“Ugh! That’s what I forgot to do! Figure out where in this godforsaken place I could find a store with a decent selection of anti-wind hair products.”

It was quite apparent from his smile that Aidan was holding in another laugh. Jules glared down the bridge of his nose at the shepherd.

“You saw the travesty that was my hair after being at the loch all afternoon! I didn’t think to pack special styling products for such trying environmental conditions,” he whined.

“Ah’m more worried ‘bout ye catchin’ a chill,” Aidan said.

“I wore warmer layers today,” replied Jules, gesturing down at the heavier sweater under his jacket.

“Still, after seein’ ye chitterin’ away th’ other day, I figured tae bring ye this,” said the Scot, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket and producing a small bundle. “Ah’d been practicin’ mah double knitting, an’ finished it yesterday e’enin. Seemed a mighty coincidence.”

Jules looked down at what turned out to be folded fabric, now in his hands. It was squishy and woolly, but not scratchy, held together with green ribbon tied clumsily into a bow. Undoing it, he discovered that the bundle opened into a rich navy-coloured scarf with a Celtic-looking geometric design running the entire length of it, done in a contrasting silvery grey.

“You... knit this?”

“Aye. Mah whole family knits. Sorta comes wi’ the territory, raising sheep an’ all.”

 _Well this certainly isn_ _’t granny’s tacky Christmas knitting_ , Jules thought, impressed by how thoroughly modern and attractive the accessory was, not to mention the workmanship. It wouldn’t look out of place tied jauntily around the neck of any young man walking down Regent Street. A rustic touch to accent the clean lines of a tailored suit or classic jacket.

“This is too kind a gift, I couldn’t possibly accept it,” said Jules, holding the unfurled scarf out to the other man, who used one outstretched palm to press it back into his hands.

“Nae worries, keep it! Ye’ll need it fer the blustery weather!”

A little taken aback by such a kind gesture, Jules just stared at the scarf for another moment before bringing his arms back towards his chest. As he turned the length of knitting over, he realized that the other side had the colours of the design inversed, with a navy design on a grey background. _He actually made this_ _… with his own two hands? Beyond ridiculous… it’s so beautiful._

“Um, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you,” he managed, doubling the scarf over and pulling the ends through itself to loop around his neck. The wool was still warm from where it had been nestled against the other man’s side within his jacket.

“Yer welcome,” said Aidan, beaming at him, “Are ye ready tae head out?”

 

As he followed Aidan to the parking lot, Jules decided that the lack of kilt was not actually a disappointment. Though the Scots’ muscular legs were no longer on display, the worn denim did provide a very good view—wind or no wind—of his shapely posterior, hugging it nicely. Dragging his eyes back up as they reached the rental car, Jules realised he still had no idea what the plan for the afternoon was.

“So where are you taking me today?”

“Thought ye wanted tae be surprised,” replied Aidan, getting into the driver’s seat once the doors were unlocked.

Jules sat down and looked over across the centre console. “Well, you’re in charge. Just make sure we don’t turn onto any roads blocked by passing livestock.”

“Ah’ll stick tae the main routes, promise.”

When the motor turned on, the podcast from the other day started playing again—or rather, the next episode of it, which had begun on their drive home. Jules fiddled with the volume, lowering it, then scrolled through his music selection as Aidan pulled onto the road. Finding a favourite classical playlist and selecting it, he listened for a moment and nodded, satisfied with his choice of background music. This way they’d actually be able to converse on the drive, which Jules found himself looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with knitting terminology, double knitting is one of the many ways to work with multiple colours of yarn. Specifically it is a way that produces two "right sides" of the work, rather than a good side and a messy back side that becomes the inside of clothing, like some techniques produce. For the scarf Aidan gives to Jules, I was picturing something like this but with a more complex geometric design: [Celtic Braid Border Scarf](https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/celtic-braid-border-scarf)
> 
> For an example of how the colours are inverse on opposite sides of the work, this image shows a really clear example of a scarf in progress, with both sides visible: [Colourwork in Double Knitting](https://media.rainpos.com/6886/img_20170606_180945.jpg)
> 
> For even more Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic discussion and nonsense, come visit me on [tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the second thing people want to do in Scotland, after they've seen a loch? Castles! Hooray second date!
> 
> Name reference again, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)

“So, do I get a hint?”

“Whit fer dae ye want me tae gie ye a hint?”

“About where we’re going, _duh_.”

“Nae patience, eh? Aye, Ah’ll gie ye a hint. Ah’d suggested a castle or ruin, an’ ye dinnae pick one, so we’re seein’ both.”

“That’s not very helpful, you know,” Jules said in a flat voice, giving Aidan a bit of side eye. The Scot kept his gaze straight ahead on the road, so the effect was sadly lost on him.

“Jus’ tryin’ tae keep th’ element o’ surprise,” he responded with a smile.

Looking out the window, Jules watched the scenery pass by. One feature of the landscape he’d noticed before caught his eye again; the green-brown of the hills that were everywhere in this area were striped with irregular bands and clusters of some kind of bush or small tree. Even from afar, it was easy to tell that each one was covered in what must have been hundreds of little yellow flowers. They added some much needed colour to the otherwise fairly drab spring foliage.

“What are the yellow bushes? Or whatever they are?”

Aidan snuck a brief look at the direction Jules was pointing. “Oh! Tha’d be gorse. Bonnie flowers, eh? Smell magic, too. Umm, a wee bit like… coconut? Careful round ‘em, though, they hae thorns all o’er.”

“Ugh! Is everything in Scotland secretly out to get me?”

Aidan giggled at that, instead of dignifying it with a proper response. Jules huffed, but couldn’t manage to keep up the act of being offended for long with infectious laughter coming from beside him, and had to fight back a smile. They drove a while longer, Jules watching the slopes rise and fall, the distribution of the gorse bushes seeming to undulate across the hilly landscape.

“They’re wha’ the village was named fer, ye ken?”

“What, really? Why? Shouldn’t it be named for sheep or something?” Jules briefly considered his point before continuing on, talking over the start of Aidan’s attempt to reply. “Oh, never mind, I suppose _everything_ out here can’t be named for sheep or you’d run out of names pretty quickly.”

“Ha! Well, a lot o’ places use Scots or Gaelic words fer features o’ the surroundin’ area,” explained Aidan patiently, “Braebaud hae two parts, both o’ Scots origin;  _brae_ , meanin’ somethin’ like ‘slopes o’ a hill’, an’ _baud_ , roughly translatin’ tae ‘covered in gorse’, though it can also mean any kind o’ thicket. Prolly ‘cause the hills nearby are pure blanketed wi’ ‘em. Yellow blooms nearly year round.” 

“Why the ‘East’, then?” asked Jules, always one to nitpick, “Is there a ‘West Braebaud’?”

“Ha ha! Oh, there isnae such a place,” said the Scot, laughing his musical laugh again and captivating Jules just slightly, “East jus’ refers tae it bein’ East o’ the closest hills, Ah’d suspect.”

“So where are we going?” Jules tried his luck once more.

“Gosh, yer incorrigible, aren’t ye?” Aidan smiled, returning his attention fully to the road. Jules sulked in his seat, arms crossed, listening to Aidan’s occasional humming along with the music coming over the car speakers.

 

Once they’d turned off the main motorway, the views from the passenger window of the car became even more quaint. A short way down the road, Jules could see rusty-coloured lumps come into view. Whatever they were, they were alive; moving slowly next to a rickety-looking wooden fence running the length of someone’s property next to the road.

“Oh my god, what on earth are those things?!” Jules asked, hoping against hope that they weren’t a breed of monstrous giant sheep.

“Wha? The coos?”

“Those are cows?”

“Aye, Highlan’ coos. Great shaggy beasties!”

“Pull over! I want to see them!”

Aidan did as directed, pulling onto the dirt shoulder and putting on the flashers, though the puzzled look on his face said he wasn’t sure why. Jules bounded out of the car, walking quickly over to the fence and gawking at the creatures on the other side. A few of them had horns, and all of them had an excessive-seeming amount of… fur? Hair? What did cows have, anyway?

 _Scotland just breeds fluffy things, apparently_ , he thought to himself. _Sheep, cows, shepherds_ _…_

“Would ye be carin’ tae enlighten me, Jules,” said Aidan as he came to stand beside him, “How ye like coos, but nae sheep?”

“Have you even looked at them?” Jules huffed, “They’re so funny-looking! How can you not be entertained? Sheep are just horrors from a demon dimension, I’m fairly certain.”

Aidan shook his head from side to side, confusion warring with an amused smile on his face. “Ah cannae say I understand… yer still a mystery tae me.” The Scot leaned on the fence, making noises with his tongue, apparently in an attempt to coax the cows closer.

“How do they even see like that with hair over their faces?” Jules asked, watching a large cow wander over, vision surely obscured by the thick bunch of hair falling down in front of its eyes.

“How dae Alec e’en see? They dae jus’ fine,” joked Aidan with a mischievous look.

Jules burst out laughing at that; the mental image of tiny little Alec being like one of these hulking creatures was utterly absurd.

 

It wasn’t much further to their destination once Jules’ interest in the exotic cattle was satisfied. They’d been driving through what appeared to be the grounds of an estate and golf course; pockets of green manicured lawns separated by stands of trees and small buildings in places. The fact that the narrow roads were smoothly paved had not escaped Jules’ notice; the upkeep was strikingly different from the more rural farming side roads he’d accidentally explored. Turning onto a long, straight driveway of sorts, he spied what must be their destination.

The rows of trees on either side of them ended abruptly, and up ahead loomed a large structure. Weathered stonework and a tower missing half the shingles from its remaining turret peeked out from above a swath of thickly growing creepers. The building was set back behind a barrier of trees and dense shrubbery—all of it a bit wild and unkempt save the freshly mowed lawn that met the driveway, which forked to either side of the castle and continued.

“Welcome tae the ruins o’ Buchanan Castle,” said Aidan as he pulled the car right onto the grassy shoulder beside a line of trees, almost hidden out of view on the far side of the building. Opening the door and stepping out, he added, “Most folk visitin’ this region go tae Stirling Castle, which is preserved much finer, but I was figurin’ we’d see one o’ tha less well-known sights.”

“Fine by me,” said Jules, rounding the vehicle to stand beside the Scot, “Who needs to see a big tourist trap, anyway?”

“Well, it’s still a treat. Real quality, but ye might see it on yer way home, leavin’ a few hours ere ye’d normally hae t’ head out. After all, yer rental’s frae Stirling,” he said, pointing at the plates before starting across the road.

Jules looked up as they approached the massive stone building, admiring the craftsmanship which had gone into the place, evident even in ruin. Carved stone gables remained over empty window holes. Massive brick chimneys poked up from behind the cover of tree and crumbling outer wall. A second storey balcony overhanging an arched doorway was obscured by at least three types of vines.

“Well, it’s a shame that the owners let such an impressive castle get swallowed up like this. They should have retained the services of more adept gardeners! Clearly the Buchanans are a careless lot.”

Aidan laughed, and Jules felt a rush of pleasure at his joke landing properly. He was often disappointed by the inability of other, less sophisticated people to grasp his particular sense of humour.

“Ach, watch what ye say ‘bout the Buchanans. That’d be Marcus’ clan yer slaggin’,” said Aidan, an edge of teasing to the warning tone he used, “’Sides, Buchanan Castle hasnae belonged tae ‘em since afore Queen Victoria took the throne. They dinnae e’en build it!”

“Hmph. Then who are the architects of this proper mess?”

“Well, Clan Graham took o’er these lands long ago, an’ when th’ original Buchanan Auld House was burned down, haed this one designed tae replace it. What’s left o’ those ruins is nae far frae here—just foundations.”

“Wait, so it isn’t all that old, then?” asked Jules as he wandered around the front of the castle, towards the left-hand side, trying to look through the overgrowth, “It hasn’t been abandoned for hundreds of years?”

Aidan shook his head, blond locks of curling hair bouncing. “Nae, only since the 1950s, if ye can believe it.”

“What? Seriously?” Jules’ mouth hung open at this revelation. The building in front of them looked like it had practically returned to the earth, taken over and torn apart by what was nearly a forest growing over and around it.

“Aye, after the war it wisnae bein’ used anymore, so th’ roof was torn off,” Aidan explained, “Same fer countless older estate houses an’ castles. All ‘cause o’ a legal loophole, sayin’ tha wi’ nae roof, buildings cannae be taxed. It’s fair tragic, losin’ historic places whit hae fallen intae such disrepair tha they cannae be saved an’ preserved, e’en by the National Trust.”

“Ridiculous! Someone should do something about that!” said Jules as he followed the path that Aidan was now picking through some of the underbrush, toward the side of the ruined building. The Scot held branches carefully out of the way, looking back to check on Jules behind him as they made their way deeper into the overgrown plant life. _Well, isn_ _’t he quite the gentleman_ , thought Jules as he skirted a mud puddle also helpfully pointed out by the shepherd.

Jules looked over at the stone wall a few feet to the left of their path and noticed a square of bright white, slightly sun-faded and cracked. It was a hand-painted wooden sign with ivy encroaching around the corners, though not enough to obscure the message:

**_DANGER_ **

_KEEP CLEAR OF THIS BUILDING_

“Ummm, not that I doubt your judgment, but is that something we should be concerned about?”

Aidan turned his head with a quizzical look, then directed his gaze to where Jules was pointing.

“Ach, nae! They hae t’ warn ye—cover their arse ‘n all—but unless yer plannin’ tae climb a crumbling part o’ the building, Ah’d nae be worryin’,” he said calmly, continuing to walk further into the foliage, “Plenty o’ folk come tae see the ruins. They’re fair sturdy, still. Nae danger!” He turned back around again when Jules didn’t follow, doubling back to stand beside him. “Oh! Though if ye dinnae want tae go in, tha’s fine, too. Umm, dae ye want t’ turn back, Jules? We can hae a daunder round the castle then, uh, see somethin’ else.”

“Hmph! Of course not!” replied Jules, throwing his head back to look imperiously down at the old sign before forging ahead, striding past Aidan. “We came to see some ruins, and we’re going to bloody well see them! Why would I want to turn back?”

Aidan caught up to him as they reached the arched doorway, the top of which had just been visible from the road. Jules felt a firm hand on his bicep as he made to step into the darkened interior of the building.

“Fer mah peace o’ mind, uh, watch where ye step an’ go slow, ‘kay? Just ‘cause the walls will nae threaten t’ collapse around ye, dinnae mean there are nae hazards, ye ken? Ye still could twist an ankle on rotting floorboards, potholes in th’ ground, or other junk lyin’ abou’.”

“Ugh, I’ll be fine!” said Jules, shaking him off, but looking down at where he was going to step—what was left of the wooden floor was indeed uneven. The Scot’s concern was meant well, Jules knew, but it still rankled. _I_ _’m not a child who’s a penny short of a pound._

Despite the fact that the morning’s cloud cover had dissipated somewhat, it seemed almost dark upon entering the castle. The canopy of vines and tree branches was so thick overhead that the pale sunlight had difficulty making it through. Jules felt a chill run down his spine as the breeze whistled past, ruffling his hair and making his jacket cling to his shoulders. He drew his new scarf around his neck a bit tighter, glad for the warmth and comfort it provided.

Passing through one ruined hall—in which the wooden interior of the walls was falling away from the stone, and the plaster which once covered them had all but disintegrated save for a few patches near the corners—the structure suddenly opened up in front of them. They stepped into a beautiful courtyard with a few still-young trees growing in the centre of it, dappled sunlight filtering down through recently leafed out branches and casting abstract spots on the ground. Jules stopped to look up and all around at walls covered in ivy and bright green swaths of moss, eyes flitting down to find Aidan watching him when the other man spoke.

“Bonnie e’en still, aye?”

“Yeah, it really is,” Jules nodded, “Why did it end up being abandoned?”

“Well, far as I can mind, th’ castle was converted tae a hotel when the golf course opened,” Aidan explained as he led them through a narrow corridor into a large room, the upper floors and roof completely gone, leaving in effect another courtyard. The only indication that was not its original construction were the large metal support beams overhead, rusted through in places. “When th’ Second World War began, it got requisitioned fer army use.”

At the far end of the room, they entered a more enclosed space containing a stairwell. The stone stairs were remarkably well preserved, though the upper flight led nowhere with the floors above the ground gone. It was the ones to the basement which had apparently captured Aidan’s attention, interrupting his history lesson.

“You really want to go down into some dingy old basement in an abandoned building?” Jules sniffed, turning his nose up in distaste.

“How no’? Are ye nae in th’ mood fer a wee adventure?” The Scot’s face was full of enthusiasm, and Jules found it difficult to say no to such big blue eyes.

“I don’t see how falling down a flight of ancient stairs and getting trapped in a rotting basement constitutes adventure. But if you’re dead set on doing it, I should at least come along to hold the torch,” said Jules, taking out his phone and turning on the bright white light, illuminating whatever portion of the room it was aimed at. Descending to the subterranean level, Jules aimed the light so they could both watch their footing. He did almost slip off the crumbling edge of one step while admiring the posterior of the man descending ahead of him, relieved nobody else was around to see his inelegant recovery.

Jules was glad of the light when they reached the bottom of the stairs, with so little filtering down from above. Bricks and piles of dirt littered the ground as far as the eye could see, to the edges of their little perimeter of illumination. An eddying wind current followed them down the stairwell, making the hairs on the back of Jules’ neck stand on edge.

“Right, sae during the war, Buchanan Castle became a military hospital—” Aidan’s attempt to continue his train of thought was interrupted this time by a loud shriek, the torch light swiveling around wildly as Jules threw his hands in the air to shoo something away from the air surrounding his head.

“ _Urgh_! Something brushed my ear!” he whined, “What if it was a _bat_? Disgusting! Nope, I’m done!”

“Jules,” said Aidan patiently, remaining calm even as Jules turned a glare on him, “It wisnae a bat. Prolly just a leaf blowin’ down frae above us.”

Infuriatingly enough, when Jules looked in the direction they’d come, a few dead leaves were floating down with the last of the breeze, settling at their feet.

“Fine! Maybe _that_ was a leaf, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t bats down here!”

“I dinnae think any bats hae made their home here,” Aidan said, looking around at the ceiling and the floor, sniffing the air, “We’d smell ‘em in tha’ case.”

“Well, if I end up with a small flying mammal nesting in my hair, I know who to blame,” Jules said, walking a little closer to Aidan’s side as they began traversing the dark passageway. The arched brickwork ceiling and dank smell made Jules think of a dungeon; it just needed sconces of flame on the walls for the illusion to be complete. “You were saying something about the war?”

“Oh! Aye, the castle was bein’ used as a hospital, treatin’ wounded from the war,” said Aidan, getting back into his guide persona, “Th’ most famous patient was Deputy Führer, Rudolf Hess. When he flew tae Scotland in an attempt tae negotiate peace behind Hitler’s back, he was injured, taken prisoner, an’ held here while he recovered.”

“Lovely. So glad I decided to follow you into the basement of an old military hospital, probably full of vengeful ghosts. _Nazi_ ghosts, for that matter.”

“Ach! It’s nae haunted!”

“Oh, and how do you know that?”

“Plenty o’ supposedly haunted castles in Scotland. This one ne’er gets e’en a mention. An’ it was used fer an army school after the war, ere bein’ left tae rot.”

Jules made a disgruntled noise, and heard something in the silence that followed which certainly wasn’t an echo. He bit off his surprised scream this time, clutching at Aidan’s arm instead, tense as a high wire.

“What was that?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“What was wha’?” Aidan said back in his normal tone, looking around.

“Ugh, never mind,” Jules decided it wasn’t worth explaining the whistling noise he’d heard, not wanting to be laughed at. Besides, he felt much safer now that he was holding onto the Scot’s arm. It was a rather nice arm, too. _I_ _’m sure he won’t mind if I just stay latched on like this. Really, who_ would _complain?_

Up ahead a cone of anemic light shone down through some kind of opening in the top of the tunnel, illuminating a heaping pile of fallen leaves in the most unnerving way Jules could have imagined. He’d never seen dead foliage look so sinister before. Passing to one side of the decomposing mass of organic matter, another whistling noise assaulted his ears, louder than before. Jules managed to avoid an actual outcry this time, even when the leaves swishing around his ankles felt a little too much like mice running over his shoes.

“God! Could this place get any creepier?”

“It’s just th’ wind,” said Aidan in a soothing voice, which sounded tinged with amusement to Jules’ ears.

He glared at the other man, whose round features were just visible in the low light. Jules only realised how much he was digging into Aidan’s arm when a warm, comforting hand came to rest on top of one of his. _Bollocks, that_ _’ll probably leave a bruise_ , he thought, forcing his hands to loosen their death grip.

“Sorry.”

“Nae worries,” replied Aidan, letting his own hand fall again after giving Jules’ a reassuring pat, “Though Ah’m glad I dinnae take ye tae th’ Edinburgh Vaults!”

They continued through the narrow corridors, coming across a blocked off section. The ceiling had collapsed in and a pile of dirt had accumulated around the bottom of a crumbling support pillar.

“I hope you know where the exit is. Because I didn’t think to bring any breadcrumbs to leave a trail behind us.”

“Ah’ve been payin’ attention, dinnae fash. ‘Sides, there should be anuther exit somewhere ahead.”

When they finally reached another staircase that looked suitably stable, Jules was still hanging off Aidan’s arm. In the comparably rich light now reaching them, he could see a slight blush on the other man’s cheekbones.

“Are ye still scared? It might, uh, be easier tae take th’ stairs single file,” Aidan suggested, not quite making eye contact before looking back up at the exit again.

Jules let go of his arm with a huff. “I wasn’t _scared_. I just figured it was better to stick together so we didn’t lose each other in the dark!” With that, he brushed past and began climbing the stairs, not bothering to check whether the shepherd was following him.

 

The ruins were large and sprawling, even with a number of the outermost walls knocked down practically to the foundations. Inside, the narrow hallways still managed to be almost claustrophobic. Especially when half-obstructed by trees growing in their path so they had to squeeze between the trunks and the high stone walls.

“Oh, this mind’s me o’ somethin’ mah da told me ‘bout visiting Buchanan Castle wi’ his mates back in tha day. Said ye could still see rottin’ carpets running th’ length o’ these halls, an’ saplings growin’ straight up through ‘em,” Aidan said, pointing back along the corridor they’d just walked, “Ah’d wager the trees we see t’day are one an’ the same, e’en though the carpets’re gone. Nature dae work right fleet.”

Wandering through room after room in various states of decay, Jules couldn’t always tell those meant to be courtyards from those which were simply spaces fallen into such disrepair that they were completely open to the elements now, all traces of their interior construction gone.  In one such area, a pile of stones from the fallen walls had been stacked to form a sort of makeshift bench.

“Now seems as good a time as any for a break!” said Jules, dusting off one of the flatter sections of stone with a hand and carefully perching on it.

Aidan smiled and sat down beside him, taking off the rucksack which held their lunch, picked up at a cute little cafe on the drive there. The smell of fresh, green dampness pervading the castle grounds was a nice counterpoint to their pasties, which tasted warm and homey. When the history lesson from earlier didn’t continue, Jules took the opportunity to steer the conversation in a direction he’d been curious about.

“You know, since I arrived, I’ve noticed that everyone seems _awfully_ nosy. Last night in the pub I couldn’t even have a glass of wine without being interrogated!”

“Hah! Whit can I tell ya? ‘Round ‘ere it’s a small world. Folk’re always chuffed tae spy a new face an’ hae a bit o’ a blether wi’ any visitors.”

“Hmph, back in London the level of cross-examination anyone visiting The Equinox receives would be considered awfully rude.”

“Ach, they dinnae mean anythin’ by it,” said Aidan, shaking his head a little.

“Well in that case, surely you could provide me with a little bit of information about the tallest and smallest Scotland Yard detectives I’m staying with,” Jules said in his most innocent, yet compelling, voice.

“Who? Marcus and Alec?”

“Who else? What’s up with the pirate and the goth? I _know_ you’ve got all the dirt on them, come onnnnn!”

Aidan frowned and fixed him with a baleful stare—surprising to see on the man’s normally pleasant, almost cherubic face.

“Now listen ‘ere, Jules. Ye can make sheep fucker jokes ‘til the sun sets, an’ then some, but make one more crack ‘bout Marcus’ eye an we’ll hae trouble, ye ken?” The Scot’s tone brooked no argument. “Ah’m absolute dead serious. It weren’t more’n a few years back ‘e lost it, an’ farmin’ accidents are nae laughin’ matter.”

Feeling properly chastised, Jules shut his mouth after mumbling an apology. He stared down at the remainder of his lunch and the small flakes of pastry which, having fallen off, had taken up residence in the creases of his trousers. He brushed them off before they could leave grease spots.

“Heh, Alec dae like wearin’ black an awful lot, though.”

Jules lifted his gaze again, and saw Aidan looking back at him with an open expression once more, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Apparently Jules’ stupidity was forgiven already. His worry over how much he might have upset his companion was somewhat assuaged.

“Please tell me I’m not going to be subject to horribly depressing music coming over the speakers.”

“Nae, him an’ Sachairi prefer stuff wi’ rather more screamin’ in it than Marcus’d allow.”

“Well that’s a relief.” said Jules, “Really, though, if Alec’s such a gossip, I need to have some ammunition, too. Don’t you dare hold out on me, Aidan! Come on, tell me what he was like as a teenager or something. Any stories you’d care to recount?”

Amusement shone in Aidan’s eyes as he tried and failed to contain a smile at Jules’ insistence.

“Ah, you’re, uh, out o’ luck there. Alec and Sachairi only moved tae East Braebaud after they’d finished school.”

“Ugh, well that’s no help at all,” sighed Jules, taking the break in conversation to finish his pasty, then getting up and brushing off his trousers again, front and back.

 

They wandered into another section of the castle, closer to one of the outer walls. Large window holes let the mid-afternoon sun shine through at an angle, casting shadows from the trees both inside and just on the other side of the stone barrier. The light had an almost green-gold quality to it from the fresh spring leaves surrounding them. The weather really was beginning to improve, even if the wind continued to howl at intervals.

“How did Marcus and Alec end up running a B&B, anyway? They’re pretty young to be innkeepers.”

“Oh! Well, it was owned an’ run by Marcus’ parents, an’ he helped out when we were younger. After his da died, his ma decided she’d haed enough, an’ it was time tae retire. She moved t’ Aberdeen, wantin’ t’ be close tae her daughters; Marcus’ eldest sister’d birthed a lad an’ a lassie by then. The younger was studyin’ there, too.”

“So he inherited it?”

“Aye, he’d been figurin’ ‘e might. Studied hospitality an’ small business ownership in uni, though ‘e got tae use it sooner than e’en he expected.”

“And Alec?”

“Ah, well, Alec an’ Marcus haed been seein’ each other fer a little o’er a year when tha factory Alec an’ Sachairi worked at closed. Marcus was in the middle o’ doin’ some renos for the B&B, only the pub open. Marcus was real sweet on Alec, an’ serious ‘bout wantin’ a future with ‘im—he was worryin’ Alec might move tae find more work,” Aidan explained as they continued walking, one hand trailing along the stone wall beside him. Brushing through ivy leaves, a trail of dirt fell away from his fingers, glinting in the rays of sunlight. “Sae, he proposed! Asked Alec if ‘e wanted tae run the place together, seeing as it were goin’ tae be a bigger job wi’ his ma an’ sisters gone.”

Jules raised an eyebrow as he glanced sideways at the Scot. “That is quite possibly the gayest thing I’ve ever heard… and that’s saying something.”

It was the sound Aidan made tripping over his own feet—more than seeing the other man fall behind in his peripheral vision—which got Jules to turn around and slow his pace as he continued talking.

“I mean, sure, I’ve dated a guy or two who dreamed of running a bed and breakfast one day, but none of them ever got down on one knee and asked me to open one with them,” he said as Aidan fell back into step beside him, “Besides, I usually insist that they get down on both knees at once; more stable like that.”

A tiny, strangled noise that sounded like a cross between choking and giggling was the only response Aidan gave, but the flush on his cheeks spoke volumes.

 _Hmmm, he would look good on his knees_ , Jules thought, aiming a sly grin at the tousle-haired shepherd as they passed into a narrow corridor again, walking practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

Aidan cleared his throat before speaking. “Uh, well, as I was sayin’, umm, th’ two of ‘em dinnae waste time tyin’ the knot. Marcus proposed in… March? The wedding set fer mid-summer.”

“Wow. That’s either true love, or a massive lapse in judgment,” said Jules, mind boggling at the thought, “I can’t even fathom getting married as young as they must have been, let alone so early in a relationship… this was a few years back?”

“Aye,” Aidan nodded, “But true love it was! Ah’ll nae lie, it’s been amazin’ tae see. They’re stronger than e’er, year after year.” 

Jules really didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily Aidan continued his train of thought, practically getting misty-eyed as Jules watched him in the artificial dimness created by the walls high on either side of them.

“They held the ceremony out back in th’ yard behind the pub. Tha’ was th’ first year Alec planted a garden, and e’erythin’ were bloomin’. I was Marcus’ best man, an’ Sachairi did the same fer Alec. Small weddin’, jus’ family ‘n’ close friends. The weather was gorgeous, e’en!” The Scot had a faraway look in his eyes as he spoke, “T’was the bonniest sight I e’er did see—I could nae keep frae greetin’ through half o’ it.”

“Greeting?” Jules asked, unfamiliar with the turn of phrase.

“Ha, means I was cryin’ like a wee bairn,” Aidan said with a little laugh, the melodious sound almost seeming to echo through the stone structure around them.

 _Why is that somehow not surprising?_ Jules thought, responding only with a small hum of confirmation.

 

They passed the rest of the afternoon speaking of lighter subjects, and Jules managed not to make another conversational faux pas. One misjudged joke was plenty for the day, as far as he was concerned. Having walked over to see what remained of the Auld House, they returned to the car. Instead of getting in, though, they milled about for a bit, clearly neither wanting the afternoon to end just yet. Eventually they ended up sitting along a stretch of stone fence looking down over the golf course, breeze whipping at the leaves overhead. Jules ran his hands through his hair in a vain attempt to combat the effects of the wind.

“Ugh! I really cannot with these unceasing gales.”

“Dinnae e’en try fightin’ it, ‘s a hopeless cause,” Aidan said. He gave Jules a small smile from behind his own pale locks, which were being blown around his face and into his eyes, making him squint slightly.

“I give up!” huffed Jules, “I’ll just have to thoroughly brush it when I get back. Again. Would you mind terribly if I did that before we grab dinner? I mean, if you want to eat together after this?”

The Scot looked down at his boots guiltily, hunching his shoulders.

“Ach, unfortunately Ah’ll nae be able tae join ye fer dinner t’night. The lambs’ll need tendin’ afore dark, an’ it’s Sachairi’s day off.”

“Ugh. Fine! Leave me to sit in awkward silence with Alec while Marcus practically pulls my fingernails out one by one trying to get every last detail of this afternoon out of me.” Jules sighed dramatically, already planning to sulk on the way back.

“Ah’m sorry… Anuther night, though?” Aidan asked, hopefully. When Jules gave him a cool shrug, he made a different suggestion. “Oh! How ‘bout we gae hillwalking later in th’ week?”

“Hillwalking? Don’t you do that every day? Isn’t it basically your job? Why on earth would you want to do it for fun? You Scots are crazy.”

 Aidan barked out a laugh, high and cheery.

“Aye, tha’ may be. Though we're fair consistent ‘bout it,” he said, one arm making a sweeping gesture to encompass the view in front of them, “Fer example, golf. Invented here, an’ a game designed t’ take ye all day tae play. Ideally, ye’d be haein’ a shot o’ whisky fer e’ery hole. Walkin’ fer hours on end. ‘Tis the Scottish way!”

“Pfft. Well, I don't know if a certain technological marvel known as a _golf cart_ has made it up here to the rural backwaters, but it certainly cuts down on the amount of walking required to play 18 holes.”

“Oh! D’ye play golf, Jules?”

“I've been known to, on occasion.”

“Ah’m nae particularly good at it, but we might play sometime!”

“Hmm, I didn’t think to bring my clubs or shoes,” said Jules, pondering the suggestion.

“There’re always rentals.”

“And use the same bent and dinged clubs as a few hundred—or worse yet, thousand—other people? Touch the same sweaty grips? I think not.” He was offended by the very idea. _Besides, if he thinks I_ _’m going to embarrass myself with street shoes throwing off my finely honed technique, he can think again._

“Sae, hillwalkin’ it is, then?” Aidan leaned closer and raised his pale brows in an encouraging way.

Jules sighed, “I suppose it’ll have to be.”

“Good, ‘cause Ah’ve got jus’ the route. Ye haen’t seen Scotland ‘til ye’ve seen it on foot.”

Jules allowed a small smile to cross his lips, watching as a big, beaming one appeared on Aidan’s face in return. It was complemented by a slight respite from the wind; now just enough to flutter the Scot’s bangs on his forehead. A patch of insubstantial clouds blew across the sun’s path, and the varied light almost seemed to make his blue eyes glitter.

“Thank you,” said Jules, before leaning in to place a quick, dry peck on Aidan’s cheek, “For taking me out again. I would never have thought to visit this castle on my own, and it was really something.”

It took half a moment for Aidan to respond. “... Oh! Uh, mah pleasure. Ah’m glad y’enjoyed it.”

When Aidan didn’t make a move to try anything further—just smiling bashfully and looking back out at the landscape—Jules hoisted himself off the stone ledge.

“Well, I suppose we should head back now. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your sheep any longer.”

 

The ride back was quieter than the ride out that morning had been. It was a bit unnerving. Jules stared out the window, wondering if he’d misread the Scot’s apparent attraction, mood threatening to sour. Though, sneaking glances at Aidan, the man seemed perfectly content; smiling and occasionally humming as he had been earlier in the day. 

Jules tried to convince himself that everything was fine, fiddling with the scarf around his neck, looking at the winding pattern knit with care into the garment. Surely that gift was proof enough of his interest? Or maybe just of the absurd levels of friendliness and kindness the shepherd seemed to positively radiate. It drove him half mad on the way back, wondering whether the kiss had been a bad idea. _He certainly didn't seem_ nearly _enthusiastic enough._

When they arrived at the pub, Aidan handed Jules the keys, their fingers brushing slightly.

“Um, Ah’ve been haein’ a think, an’ perhaps it’d be smart tae exchange mobile numbers? Uh, fer makin’ plans t’ gae walkin’?”

“Yes! Sure. Good thinking!” Jules replied, thrilled. 

The Scot patted at his pockets and fished out a slightly beat up, older device.

 _At least it_ _’s not a flip phone_ , thought Jules with relief, then rattled off his own number with practised ease. “Okay, just send me a text and we're set,” he added casually, after watching Aidan tap at the screen. Nobody even had to know he’d already sneakily obtained the other man’s number.

Jules whipped out his shiny, latest generation phone just in time to feel the buzz of a message coming in; notification popping up with a preview at the top of the screen.

 

 **_Kilt Cutie: Hi, it_ ** **_’s Aidan! This is my number so…_ **

****

Jules quickly angled the device to hide the screen from Aidan’s line of sight, trying to make it look like he was just fighting glare from the sun overhead.

 _I guess I_ _’ll have to change the contact name… pity_ , he thought, opening the edit screen and deleting the original entry, typing in ‘Aidan’ as if he’d only just created a new contact.

“Well, now that’s settled, I suppose I should bid you _adieu_ , until the next time you come to whisk me off for a damp, windy adventure.”

“Ach, dinnae jinx it—ye’ve nae seen properly damp Scottish Spring yet!”

“Let’s hope my luck holds, then, and we get more unseasonably sunny days.”

“Mah fingers’re crossed!”

“Have a good evening doing… whatever you’re doing with the lambs,” said Jules, then—seeing the look on Aidan’s face—he added, “I _swear_ that wasn’t supposed to be a joke!”

“Heh, okay. You hae a good e’ening too, Jules.”

Aidan gave him another big smile that still somehow retained a shy quality to it. Even if Jules had thought it a good idea to try and follow up on his earlier advances, they were standing too far apart for it to be anything but awkward. So, he gave a little wave, his best seductive grin, and turned to enter the inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan is absolutely the kind of giant sap who cries at weddings. You know it in your heart to be true. 
> 
> If you're curious to see Buchanan Castle in all its glory, I've added links to some videos to my tumblr post for this chapter, which can be found under the [Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic) tag, along with other nonsense.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It liiiiiivvvvves! After far too long, I’ve finally gotten myself immersed in Scottish AU again and excited to write more of it, so keep an eye out for additional updates soon-ish. No promise on exact timelines, but it won’t be the better part of a year again before the next chapter is out XD
> 
> Thanks to all my lovely returning readers who have stuck by this work, encouraged me, and are back for more, now. I appreciate every single one of you <3
> 
> As per usual, a name reference, for ease of reading:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Sachairi = Cain (pronounced SEY-KehR-Riy)  
> Anna = Cain’s sister

The sound of rain pounding against the panes of his bedroom windows was the first thing to filter into Jules’ consciousness once his alarm woke him. It was loud and _staccato_ , the kind of storm that wasn’t likely to let up any time soon. He cursed his luck as he pulled his phone into bed with him and sank deeper into the covers. After a positively dull, relaxing time with nothing to do in this middle-of-nowhere town yesterday, he’d been hoping Aidan would be available to go hillwalking sooner rather than later. A twinge of guilt for wanting the Scot to spend more time with him—when he clearly had work to do and a life outside of entertaining Jules’ whims while on vacation—was quickly shrugged off when he opened up his texts.

They’d been chatting sporadically since exchanging numbers, after their adventure in the ruins of Buchanan Castle. And that little peck on the cheek he’d given Aidan, since unacknowledged. He still wasn’t sure it had been the right move, despite how flirty the Scot had been with him at points—and those messages he’d seen on Alec’s phone, which he’d tried and failed to put out of his mind. Jules had been attempting not to seem like he was waiting by his phone, hanging on every word the other man sent. He thought he’d done quite well with it, yesterday; at one point he waited an entire two hours to respond to one of Aidan’s texts.

_Practically an_ eternity _considering where I am and how little there is to occupy me_ , he mused.

He re-read the sweet good night message from Aidan, sent just over 12 hours previous, before tapping out a new missive.

 

            Yesterday 11:21 PM

**_Well, it_ ** **_’s past my bedtime. Talk to you in_ **

**_the morning!_ **

****

**_Night Aidan_ **

****

**_G_ ** **_’night, Jules. Sleep well :)_ **

****

Today 10:06 AM

                        **_So this would be_** ** _“properly damp Scottish_**

**_Spring_ ** **_”, yes?_ **

****

Jules didn’t need to wait long for a response; his phone making a quiet ding before he’d even mustered the enthusiasm to sit up, let alone get out of bed. He picked it up again, remaining cocooned in the blankets while they messaged.

 

            Today 10:08 AM

**_O, aye! It_ ** **_’s pouring out!_ **

****

**_Let me guess, you_ ** **_’ve already been in_ **

**_the fields for hours._ **

****

**_How_ ** **_’d you guess? ;)_ **

****

**_In the barn, mostly, though. A bit wet_ **

**_for anyone without a full wool coat!_ **

****

**_So I take it hillwalking is off the table?_ **

****

**_Unless you want to go swimming in_ **

**_the muck_ ** **_… XD_ **

****

**_I think not_ **

****

**_Just taking the piss ;)_ **

****

**_You know, it_ ** **_’s kind of hard to tell with_ **

**_you. For all I know mud wrestling with_ **

**_the sheep is just a normal Thursday._ **

****

The prospect of another horridly boring day stretched out in front of Jules and he sighed into the pillow before finally getting up. He padded over to his _en suite_ and turned up the knobs on the shower until the room filled with steam. He stepped under the spray, hoping the hot water would wash away the sour mood that the rain outside was already giving him. When he finally got out, resigned to his fate of spending another day mostly alone and inside, another message awaited him.

 

            Today 10:20 AM

**_Too bad, though. I was excited to_ **

**_go out hillwalking with you :)_ **

****

Jules felt a spike of warmth go through him, but it didn’t do much to help lighten his spirits. He typed out a response, pausing to wipe a few stray droplets of water that had fallen onto the screen from his hair.

 

            Today 10:34 AM

                        **_Same here, though I have no idea why._**

**_Plodding over hillsides has never been_ **

**_something I considered as a hobby._ **

****

**_Ha ha! Just wait and see. You might_ **

**_even enjoy it :D_ **

****

**_Tomorrow, then?_ **

****

**_Maybe if the rain lets up. Worst case_ **

**_we_ ** **_’ve got weekend plans!_ **

****

**_Ugh, fine. Stupid weather._ **

****

**_I_ ** **_’ll talk to you later._ **

****

He toweled off his hair a second time before finding some clothes to throw on, not bothering to pay much attention to matching them.

_What_ _’s the point if I’m just hanging around the B &B all day, anyway? Nobody worth showing off for_, he thought, _Every bloke here is either married or trash._

He dried his hair carefully, combing it through until it fell perfectly straight and with just enough volume—he couldn’t bring himself to look a _complete_ slob, even if there wasn’t anyone to impress around. Once he was satisfied he went downstairs for breakfast, lured by the scent of whatever delicious thing Marcus had whipped up that morning, which was still wafting through the air.

 

Full of home baked muffins and fruit salad, Jules sat on the back porch under the veranda reading, reasonably content for the moment. His third cup of strong tea rested on the low table beside him, steaming a misty trail up into the cool air. He wasn’t even reading, really. He’d picked up a book from the shelf in the breakfast room, unable to find himself interested in any of the hundreds of titles languishing on his e-reader. Sometimes it was easier just to grab an actual book from a considerably smaller selection. Plus, it made for a good excuse to snoop around and see what the bookshelf said about the proprietors, or perhaps their past guests.

It was chock full of dog-eared paperbacks, the cheap mass-market editions, spines wrinkled or broken long ago. A few copies of modern lit fic and the occasional classic were scattered among a large selection of sci fi and fantasy novels. Many of them were in series, but in a few cases not every book in a series was there, and there were even one or two that had doubles from different printings, mismatched with their fellows.

_Oh my_ _… who would have thought those two were such nerds?_ Jules had thought, seeing the selection, then reconsidered his assumption, _Well, Alec I can see—he looks like he lives on the internet, or in a basement somewhere—but Marcus seems like the kind of guy who_ _’d rather hit the gym than the library… mmmm._

His opinions seemed to be backed up by the framed photographs which stood on top of the bookcase, with a few even shoved into the corners of the shelves themselves. Lots of pictures of the taller innkeeper outside, or doing reno work. He really was as handsome without the eyepatch as Jules had pictured. Conspicuously, there were no newer shots of him. Just depictions of a smiling, square face looking out from under the glass with a perfectly symmetrical deep brown gaze.

Far fewer photos featured tiny Alec, and the few that did mostly showed him half-hidden behind Marcus, or had been taken surreptitiously, in all likelihood. Alec behind the reception desk staring intently at the screen; Alec on a laptop in a room Jules didn’t recognize, which must have been the couple’s own suite; even one of the skinny man bent over a familiar sign, paintbrush in hand and clearly working on one of the trees beside the outline of cutoff letters spelling ‘THE EQ-’.

The largest of the frames contained a photo of the two men standing next to each other in kilts and black tailcoats with lovely silk bowties. Jules took a moment to admire the cut of the garments, which had clearly been tailored nicely. He concluded that the picture must have been from their wedding, just as Aidan had mentioned. It was in the foyer of the building, though—not the garden—with the overhead chandelier fixture lit up, during an evening reception perhaps? It looked candid, too; neither of the men were quite facing the camera and appeared to have eyes only for each other. Marcus’ smile looked big enough to break his face. Alec’s expression was predictably less boisterous, an almost-smirk that seemed to be hiding a giggle beneath it.

Eventually Jules pulled himself away from the shelf, taking with him the sole celebrity autobiography it had contained. Luckily it was one he’d heard was worth reading just for the salacious details on co-stars and exes.

Now it sat open on his lap as he watched the rain fall, looking out at the garden. Surrounding the house were gorgeous spring flowers and plots of bare earth that appeared to have been prepared for planting vegetables or something later in the season. It must have been around two, maybe half-past, when soft footsteps on the deck behind him announced the arrival of someone else. Alec nodded a silent hello as he closed the door, then leaned against one of the wooden supports holding up the roof overhang above them.

“Hello Alec,” Jules said, still unsure of exactly how to interact with the painfully quiet man. At least he’d had the decency to stand with the side of his face not covered by a thick black fringe toward Jules. He could at least _see_ the expressionless cast to the man’s fine-boned face, shadowed in the midday gloom of the cloudy day.

No response, though, besides the barest incline of the shorter innkeeper’s head. They remained in silence until Jules couldn’t take it any longer.

“Did you really plant all of this?” he asked in an attempt to be friendly, gesturing out at the lush foliage of the garden.

Alec nodded again, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips with apparent satisfaction.

“It’s really quite lovely.”

“Thanks,” responded Alec, turning his head slightly and even smiling something approaching a real smile. 

Jules was nearly bowled over by the actual response, spoken so quietly it would have been lost to the noise of the rain if they weren’t quite so close together on the small porch. He only just managed to gather his wits and continue the conversation without giving off too much surprise.

“My mother loves gardens,” he started, searching for something else to say on the topic, “She’s not really one for putting her hands in the dirt, though.”

Alec just raised one dark, swooping eyebrow to that.

“She does love visiting the Botanics, though. And we even took a family trip to the Netherlands once, for the tulip festival,” he tried, hoping for another reaction to go on, and failing to get one.

_Fine, we_ _’ll just sit here and stare at the rain if he can’t even be bothered to even give a shrug or something,_ thought Jules petulantly. He picked up his teacup just to have something to do.

Before he could latch onto something else to have a one-sided conversation about Alec pulled out his phone, glanced at it, and put it back in his pocket again. He turned toward the door, but shot a questioning look over one shoulder.

“Playin’ board games. Ye comin’?”

Jules tried not to gape open-mouthed at what could actually pass for two full sentences coming from the small man, even if they were barely above a raspy whisper.

“Sure. Why not? I’m not exactly busy.”

They went down to the pub, where Marcus and Anna were sitting at one of the tables chatting and drinking pints, a few game boxes stacked on the next one over. What piqued Jules’ interest even more was the spread of delicious-looking plates of shareable foods which had been laid out on the bar.

“Fair good day, Jules!” Marcus’ friendly voice boomed out when he noticed the two men. “Glad ye decided ta join us!”

“I’d hardly call it a good day,” sniffed Jules, crossing his arms, “Have you looked outside recently? It’s as miserable as ever.”

“Aye, that it is. But I think we can manage some fun yet. Just waiting on Sachairi to get back, then we can start. He only had a half-day of work. Should be here any minute.”

“I really should have gone for a Continental vacation, instead,” Jules muttered, not quite done complaining.

“Help yersel’ tae any o’ the goodies there, Jules. Mysel’ made enough fer e’ery one,” Anna offered with a kind smile before launching into a rambling description of all the dishes, which Jules could barely follow with her thick Northern accent. He only knew it was Northern—from the islands to be more specific— thanks to Aidan’s help via another texting spree yesterday, while he’d eaten supper and puzzled over where the friendly chef and her far less friendly brother were from.

Luckily everything looked and smelled good, so he loaded up a plate before pulling out a chair beside her at the table. He got a beaming smile in return, Anna clearly pleased to have her hard work appreciated.

_I_ _’m really going to have to hit the gym when I get back to London if we don’t get out hillwalking. I can’t remember the last time I ate this well. Probably back at home, when we still had the good chef in our employ…_

Jules’ musing as he sampled the various delights on his plate was interrupted by the bell over the pub door. Sachairi stomped in, hair dripping and looking ready to pick a fight with anyone who was stupid enough to comment on his bedraggled appearance. Jules bit his tongue, but quickly forgot about whatever quip he’d been poised to make when a second figure came through the door behind the dark-haired man. That leather jacket and bright red kilt were a combination he’d know anywhere, now, surprised as he was to see them at the moment. And the wet dog trailing in behind them was a dead giveaway, if he’d needed it. Of course, a creamy blond head of messy hair was revealed as Aidan pulled a grey tracksuit hood back, ends standing up even more than usual from the static charge.

“Gosh it’s dreich out there! Ah’m near ringin’ just frae walkin’ to the door!”

“Aidan! I didn’t know ye were coming by! And bringing Tibby, too!” exclaimed Marcus happily, getting up from his chair and wandering over to pat ‘Tibby’. Getting slightly damp for his trouble, he laughed a booming laugh as the dog jumped up to lick at his face, bouncing excitedly and letting out short, happy barks.

“Well, Sachairi mentioned board games. How did ya expect me tae resist?” said Aidan as he removed his jacket and the tracksuit top beneath, hanging them on one of the coat hooks. “Anna, Alec, Jules, good to see ye! Awright?”

“O aye,” Anna answered first, and Alec just directed a smile in Aidan’s direction.

“Oh, you know,” Jules replied afterward, “Could go for some better weather, but I suppose a surprise visit is nice as well.”

The Scot grinned as he walked over to take the seat next to him, and Tiberius followed, jumping around Jules’ legs in an alarming fashion.

“Tiberius, lie down!”

The dog followed Aidan’s command, but looked like she was ready to cause mischief the second his back was turned. As nice as his backside was, Jules was glad he stayed put for the moment.

Besides, Jules was perfectly content to stare at his front side, too. He gazed at the tan and white gingham shirt Aidan wore—specifically at the space where the top two buttons were undone, exposing a nearly indecent expanse of the man’s collarbones. The warm tone of the shirt brought out the golden freckles scattered over pale flesh beneath.

_Yes, a very nice surprise indeed,_ Jules thought, suddenly hungry despite finishing off half his plate already. He could have kicked himself for not bothering to fuss more over his own dressing choices that morning.

When even the shepherd was upstaging him, that was a _problem_.

“Well Jules, we’ve got a proverb about just that up here,” said Marcus, “Today’s rain—”

“—is th’morra’s whisky!” Aidan finished his sentence with glee, “Speakin’ o’, I could gae fer a dram later. Now, though, Ah’m needin’ a cup o’ tea. Was pure Baltic earlier this mornin’!” 

“Kettle’s on in the kitchen,” Anna offered.

“Shove o’er, Aidan,” groused Sachairi as he pulled an extra chair over to the table, angling to sit between him and Alec. The plate he’d been filling clattered onto the table, threatening to spill its contents, as did the foaming pint glass he placed beside it.

Aidan obliged, or was forced to oblige as his own chair got half-pushed, half-lifted closer to Jules. Their legs connected from thigh to calf under the table, briefly sending sparks through him at the unexpected contact. The memory of a similar thrill on their ferry ride around the loch the first day they’d gone out together made Jules feel slightly warm.

It was sadly short lived, as Aidan rose to slip out before Sachairi sat. “Dae ye want a tea, too, Jules?”

“That would be brilliant,” Jules replied as he realised he’d left his previous cup sitting outside on the porch. He flinched as the dog bounded to her feet once again, bumping into him and one of the table legs on her way to follow Aidan to the kitchen.

“Tch! The Prince o’ London ‘ere stooping tae join us?” asked Sachairi.

_Rude! Not even a hello!_

“Alec invited me,” replied Jules, indignant, “Besides, it’s not like I’ve never played a board game. They do exist down in the city, you know.”

“Mysel’ dinnae figure ye fer the type.”

“Whatever!”

“Sachairi, dinnae be workin’ on ‘im!” Anna chastised her younger brother in a low voice, clucking her tongue.

“Fuck sake…” the brash young man said under his breath, rolling his eyes as he ignored Jules to focus instead on wolfing down his lunch.

Luckily Aidan returned to break the tension, setting a steaming mug of tea in front of Jules and hanging onto the other one.

“Sorry! I, uhh, forgot tae ask how ye take it.”

“It’s fine! I’m sure it’s fine,” Jules waved off the apology. It looked to be the right colour, at any rate. He took a sip and smiled, despite the fact that there was no sugar in the tea. That and… it tasted slightly off, not the right character from the milk, maybe? But the bright smile he got in return from the Scot made him forget all about minor quibbles over the proper preparation of a cup of tea.

“Well, now that we’re all assembled, let’s figure out what ta play, shall we?” said Marcus.

“Settlers,” said Sachairi in a tone that brooked no argument. Alec pointed to him as if in agreement.

“Ah’m game if ye are, Anna.”

“Aye.”

“Have ye e’er played it, Jules?” asked Aidan, as Marcus set a big red and yellow box on the table and opened it up.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Nae danger!” said the Scot, “Ye’ll catch on quick, it’s easy tae learn.”

“I have seen it before, though.” Jules added, remembering the same colourful box sitting on the bookshelf in a grungy student flat only a few years ago. “My co-worker Ethan—he used to be a classmate at uni—was always inviting me to gaming club meetings. He’s definitely the type of nerd who’s into this stuff.” Realizing what he’d just said, he tried to backpedal a bit. “Pfft! Not that you _have_ to be a nerd to enjoy games... or, uh, that there’s anything wrong with being one.”

Marcus saved him of dying from embarrassment right then and there. “Ha! Well, Aidan and I were definitely big nerds growing up. Not a whole lot ta do out in the country, so we spent too much time obsessing about games and sci fi and whatnot.”

“Dinnae try an’ get us tae agree on which Trek series is best!” Aidan chimed in.

“Everyone knows it’s TNG, Aidan,” said Marcus matter-of-factly, “One day ye’ll admit it and we can stop having this pointless argument.” 

“Nae, Ah’m sorry Marcus, but ere ye recognise the superiority o’ DS9, we’ll ne’er agree,” Aidan fired back.

“See what I’m talking about?”

 Alec snapped his fingers to shut them up, pointing down at the table, where he and Anna had the game set up and ready to play. Then it was time for long-winded explanations of the rules, with various members of the group trying to talk over each other. Eventually they all agreed that it was easiest just to learn as they played.

Once the game had started in earnest and Jules had gotten familiar with how it worked, it actually surprised him how much he enjoyed the strategy of it. Reading the balance of a bartering economy was in his wheelhouse, and much less stressful than watching the real-world markets and worrying over how every little—or massive—political event would influence the nation’s financial sector. At one point he was even holding back laughter over Marcus and Sachairi bickering with each other about the relative value of wheat to ore in a trade that was obviously doomed from the start.

He took the opportunity to lean over and whisper in Aidan’s ear.

“Earlier I would have said Enterprise just to be a shit disturber, but it probably would have caused me physical pain. So I guess I’ll just have to side with you instead.”

The shepherd turned to him, eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh! Jules, dae this mean yer secretly a wee bit nerdy?”

Watching all those reruns on TV with his older brother years ago had finally paid off, thank god. Jules merely shrugged, giving his best non-committal face.

“Dinnae worry, yer secret’s safe wi’ me,” Aidan winked, making Jules’ stomach do a little flip.

 

Once Alec had beaten the rest of them by more than the required number of points to win, they began a second game. The conversation drifted between various topics: current events, the weather, music. It was comfortable, and Jules was at ease for once, not feeling interrogated. That is, until Anna decided to pose a question.

“Sae, Jules, whit fer did ye decide tae stay here, instead o’ anuther B&B ‘round these parts?”

_Seriously? Don_ _’t they ever stop digging for gossip?_

“Well, I did some research before travelling, naturally. The other options all seemed quite appalling, really. If they didn’t have overly quaint, tourist-trap names like “The Crannach Family Country Cottage”, they had shockingly bad reviews about cleanliness or basically being a church retreat. Or both,” he gave an affected shudder to underscore his point

Marcus burst out laughing, and from beneath the next table over Tiberius barked as if chiming in.

“Ha! Oh, that’s a howler! If ye’d been looking a few years earlier, it would have been one o’ those tacky-sounding tourist places, ye ken?” He threw one big arm around the shoulders of his husband. “It was Alec who came up with the current name when we began running the place together full-time.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” Jules sniffed, then hesitated a moment before adding, “I suppose it didn’t hurt that _The Equinox_ had a functional website, either… and clearly displayed a rainbow flag on the ‘About’ page.”

Across the table, Marcus choked on a sip of beer, and Sachairi snickered. Jules caught the pointed look exchanged between Marcus and Aidan as the innkeeper coughed into his hand.

“After all, I figured if there was even the slightest chance of meeting a guy I’d want to take back to my room, I didn’t want to get judged by the proprietors.”

“Aye, well I don’t think ye have to worry about that here,” said Marcus with a smirk, recovered now, looking down at Alec after Aidan had attempted to ignore him, a faint blush creeping over the shepherd’s cheeks.

Alec had his mouth hidden behind his hand, but he let out the quietest, breathiest giggle Jules had ever heard.

“I mean, unless I brought back a real chav. Then it would be _more_ than fair to judge,” he allowed.  “Whose turn is it?”

“Mysel’ be thinkin’ it’s Aidan next,” Anna suggested.

The Scot started, taking a minute to get his head back in the game, looking at the cards in his hand and frowning slightly.

“None o’ ye better laugh, now... I hae sheep an’ need wood,” said Aidan, sending a glare around the table.

Jules snorted inelegantly. Even Alec was smirking a little.

“Aye, laugh it up.”

“How did ye manage ta end up wi’ so many sheep, mate?” asked Marcus, amusement obvious in his voice. His accent seemed slightly more prominent after a couple of beers.

“Ach, can ne’er escape ‘em...” said Aidan, shaking his head. “Ah’m meant to be farmin’ sheep. It’s mah destiny.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of wood for you. If you’d like to trade, that is.” Jules replied with a straight face, having recovered his composure.

He looked Aidan directly in the eyes as he handed over a few cards, reveling in the blush spreading further across the other man’s face.

_Goodness, this_ is _an extremely satisfying game to play,_ he thought.

He was even more satisfied when on his next turn, he realized victory was within his grasp.

“I’ll trade in one brick and one wood,” he said, putting the cards back in their respective stacks, “Which puts me ahead of Sachairi by one. I’ll take this, thank you!” He grabbed the “longest road” card from the dark-haired man and got a scowl in return. “Aaaaaannnnnd, that should be enough for me to win!”

A quick tally of points confirmed it and Jules whooped with joy. Tiberius celebrated with him, letting out a little howl of approval and dancing around the table before she settled between Jules’ and Aidan’s chairs once again.

“Yeah, well yer da’ sells Avon!” Sachairi spat out as he shoved his chair away from the table. All the other Scots burst out laughing, and Jules was apparently alone in his confusion.

“No, Avon’s parent company isn’t in among his firm’s clients, actually.”

Aidan paused in his fit of giggles long enough to say, “Dinnae ye worry, mate. It’s just an old Scottish joke.”

“Sachairi’s bein’ a sore loser, as always,” added Anna.

“Aw, fuck off, Anna!” added the irritated man as he grabbed his jacket and started for the exit. “Mysel’ done wi’ this shite.”

The party watched as Sachairi pushed the front door open with one shoulder, his hands busy fiddling with a pack of smokes already.

“Well, tha’s mysel’ away,” Anna sighed, “The laddie’s no’ got a ride home otherwise. Won’t be makin’ him walk in this dreekit mess, nae tha’ he dinnae deserve ta, the great cunt!”

“Take care, Anna,” said Marcus, suppressing a grin, “An’ haste ye back!”

“Nah, mysel’ be seein’ ye th’morra. Any payin’ customers brave this weather tae come by, ring if ye be needin’ help!”

 

When the siblings had left, the remaining men cleaned up the game and grabbed a round of drinks.

“So, what shall we play next, lads?” Marcus asked, always the good host. “Do ye know bridge, Jules?”

“Actually, I do. One of the few games my family ever bothered to play together on the rare occasion we were all home at the same time. Over the winter hols, usually.”

“Pure dead brilliant,” said Aidan, “Normally Ah’d pair with Anna, but wi’ her gone, tha’ leaves you.”

“Wait, wouldn’t we want ta split up Alec and I?” interjected Marcus, “Else we’d have an unfair advantage.”

“O aye, yer talkin’ sense.”

“Okay, then let’s the two o’ us play together, and Jules, you’re with Alec.”

_Oh, sure, give me the teammate who doesn_ _’t talk,_ thought Jules, uncharitably.

“Now, we do have ta follow tradition here in the pub,” said Marcus, “And pick team names! The winning team gets immortalized on the chalkboard over there, at least until next time.”

He pointed to a dusty old beer-branded chalkboard hanging on the wall above an old couch in the corner nook. It listed a few drink specials beneath a barely legible scrawl reading:

 

**REIGNING CHAMPIONS**

**TEAM AWESOME (Anna & Aidan)**

 

_Seriously? What are we, in primary school?_

“Alec can pick our name, I guess.”

The quiet man glanced over at Jules before nodding to Marcus.

“Ye’ve got home team advantage, then, Jules,” said Marcus as he got up to grab a pack of cards and refill his pint glass, “Yer a member o’ Team Equinox now!”

“What’re we gonnae be?” asked Aidan.

“Ye mean I can’t join Team Awesome?”

“Ach nae! Yer name dinnae e’en start wi’ an ‘A’!”

“Ah, I get it, Aidan. Yer scared Anna’ll box yer ears!” teased the taller man as he made his way back, deftly avoiding the dog weaving around his legs as he went.

“Yer at it t’day, Marcus!” said Aidan with a laugh. “Just ‘cause Ah’m th’ only one with a sense o’ self preservation… we’re still needin’ a team name, ya twat.”

“Oi, down, Tibby!” said Marcus as he tried to take a seat again, the excitable sheepdog bumping against his legs as he did, “Ha ha! Incorrigible beastie… huh, how about Team Tiberius?”

“Well, ye did help pick her out. Ah’d say it’s a fair fine choice.”

“It’s decided then! Who wants ta deal first?”

 

Jules was impressed by how well it went. Marcus and Aidan were decent opponents, but the real standout was Alec. The way he bid communicated more than he probably ever would in words to Jules, and they racked up successful contracts and bonuses, easily winning the first game. Through the second there was more chatter, once they’d found their feet in the new partnerships and didn’t have to focus quite so hard.

“Ye know, there’s a ceilidh comin’ up this weekend in Callander,” said Marcus as he scrutinized his hand.

“Oh! Ah’d almost forgotten ‘bout it,” Aidan said, turning to look at Jules, “Hae ye been t’ one before?”

“I don’t even know what that means. How do you even spell that? This is one of those weird Gaelic words with too many vowels and strange combinations of consonants, isn’t it?”

The other men chuckled, and Aidan responded, “It’s a dance. There’ll be a live band, playin’ all manner o’ folk music an’ prolly some more modern songs, too.”

“It’s a riot,” added Marcus, “We should all go as a group again! If yer interested, that is, Jules. It’s a fantastic Scottish tradition, ye’ve got ta try going t’ one at least once.”

“It’s loads more fun than gaein’ to the disco,” said Aidan, “More friendly, wi’ e’eryone dancin’ together an’ carryin’ on! The band is quality, too, if it’s the same as the last few times.” 

“How dressed up will everyone be? I didn’t exactly pack for many nightlife activities, coming out here.”

“Oh, ye’ll be just fine, given what ye’ve been wearing around already,” said Marcus, dismissing his concerns with a wave, “Decent shirt, dark trousers, and yer set ta go. No need to go diggin’ out any three piece suits or anything. It’s a dance, not a board meeting.”

Jules picked up the deck for his turn as dealer, “Okay, why not. I’m sure it will be an entertaining experience, at the very least.”

“Ah! Good on ye, Jules! We’ll hae a blast!” said Aidan with a big smile as they continued to play.

Alec and him just barely managed to scrape ahead for the second game. Luckily Aidan and Marcus were much more gracious losers than Sachairi. Or perhaps just mellowed out from the beer and whisky that had been consumed over the course of the afternoon.

“Well, ye beat us fair and square! Why don’t ye go and update the board?” suggested Marcus, leaning back into his chair.

Jules looked for Alec, but the little sneak had already slipped off, leaving him to handle the post-game nonsense all alone. He strode over to the corner of the room and carefully stepped up onto the lumpy old couch, the only way to reach the sign.

“Chalk’s on top o’ it!” Marcus called over.

Jules looked, and sure enough, there were a few sad, worn-down nubs of white chalk left sitting on the top edge of the board. He picked one up daintily, trying not to get his hands covered in the drying dust, and looked around for something to wipe the old words off.

“Here, Ah’ll help,” said Aidan, stepping up beside him. His weight shifted the cushion Jules was standing on so he had to focus to keep his balance. The Scot rubbed his palm back and forth over the dusty surface, erasing his own name. Jules handed him the chalk, happy to be rid of the duty. He watched as Aidan wrote in large, careful block lettering:

 

**TEAM TIB-**

 

“Aidan, ye cheat!” Marcus yelled from across the room, “Fix it or I’ll fix ye good!”

“Ha! Fine, fine! Dinnae fash yersel’!” said Aidan, laughing as he erased the team name once again and started in on the correct name, angling toward Jules and saying much more quietly, “Jus’ fer ye, awright?”

Marcus looked like he was about to fire back with another jibe when a “ _Pssst!_ ” sound came from the staircase up to the B&B portion of the building. His eyebrows rose and he wandered up the stairs, presumably to be dragged off by Alec, because he didn’t return. The just-audible click of the door closing behind him signaled that they’d been left alone in the pub.

When Aidan was finished he patted the board and wiped his chalky hands off on his kilt—the white dust practically disappearing into the thick woolen fabric—and gave Jules another one of those deadly winks. Jules pretended to assess the penmanship in order to collect his wits again.

 

**REIGNING CHAMPIONS**

**TEAM EQUINOX (Alec & Jules)**

 

“Well, I’m glad you put Alec’s name first,” he said, “Or I’d fear going to sleep again lest he murder me in it.”

Aidan rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was smiling as he flopped down onto the couch, sinking back into the cushions. Jules stepped down and took a seat next to him.

“E’en after bein’ teammates wi’ him ye still dinnae see how much o’ a softie he is?”

“I suppose he’s growing on me. He even spoke more than two sentences in our conversation earlier today. I feel like dragging them out of him was quite an accomplishment, on my part.”

Aidan laughed his melodic, warm laugh that Jules enjoyed so much. He decided to break into a new topic of conversation.

“So, how different is running an actual sheep farm from the simplified version of it you displayed during the game earlier? I assume you don’t actually go to barter with lumberjacks for wood. Surely even _here_ things are a bit more civilized.”

“Well, there’s a fair bit more waitin’ around fer the lambs tae grow, an’ their coats to fluff. A lot more workin’ outdoors in all weather, too, bringin’ them frae pasture tae pasture o’er the season.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of work, to me,” said Jules, “I can see why you hire Sachairi at busy times.”

“Aye, he’s been a great help, though me ma’s still plenty capable of pullin’ her weight. She’s been wranglin’ sheep since she was a wee lass, after all,” said Aidan, adding, “But it’s nice tae gie her a break, especially on days wi’ bad weather. Makes her arthritis act up a bit. And mah aunts often come t’ help out when shearin’ season begins. They’re all wizards with the wool.”

“Hmm, must be nice to have family happy to help out.”

“Aye, an’ they’re prone tae spoilin’ me. Can always count on Aunt Deirdre and Aunt Muireall tae bring o’er some sweeties and a good bottle or two fer after the work’s finished.”

“Do you mainly sell the wool? You’ll have to enlighten me, ignorant city-dweller that I am.”

“People think abou’ sheep as turnin’ a profit only in wool or meat, but th’ industry is actually more complex than ye’d expect,” said Aidan, clearly thrilled to have someone interested in hearing about his work, “Our major product, bein’ a hill farmin’ operation, is the lambs themselves. Sold t’ other farms, actually, tae become part o’ their breeding stock of ewes. An’ the past few years, demand fer lambs hae been up a few percent.”

“Huh. Why don’t the other types of farms just breed all the lambs they need for themselves?”

“Well, genetic diversity, fer one thing…” Aidan continued describing the intricacies of the livestock agriculture market, and Jules couldn’t help but be caught up in it.

He had expected a short, simple answer. Something like: ‘Sheep equal wool. Wool equals money. Money equals good.’

Really, he should have known better by now—the shepherd was full of surprises. Aidan was sharp, and funny, too. He was also really cute when he got passionate about something. Jules liked how he started talking with his hands more, how his words ran together a little, and his whole face lit up with excitement. He was very expressive. Jules knew he should probably stop staring.

“Sorry, Ah’m prolly borin’ ye,” Aidan said ruefully, shyness taking over again as he wrung his hands together. “Yer on vacation, the last thing ye want tae hear about is the business side o’ farmin’.”

“No, no! I was actually quite interested,” said Jules, trying to put as much sincerity in his voice as he could, so he wouldn’t accidentally sound sarcastic. “I’m in finance, remember? It’s really fascinating to hear about the market forces as you see them from your industry.”

“Oh! Ummm, really?” asked Aidan, “We can always talk abou’ somethin’ else.”

“Really,” Jules confirmed, then fumbled a bit in the ensuing awkward silence. “So, are you in charge of the whole operation, then? You must at least be doing the books, based on what you’ve been telling me.”

“Aye, fer a fair few years now. Always had a head fer numbers, more so than ma. Took o’er the finances officially when I turned legal age an’ could start filing th’ annual reports wi’ the government.”

They’d been drifting closer to each other over the course of the conversation, and Jules decided to take a risk, reaching out one hand to rest it on the kilt-clad thigh closest to him, slightly scratchy wool under his fingers matching the tingling sensation of uncertainty in his gut. But the warmth radiating from the fabric steeled his resolve, so many possibilities laid out before him, waiting to be grasped.

“Ooh, I do like a man with the ability to navigate the bureaucracy of national farming tax structures and subsidies,” he said, the words dripping with seductive undertones as he leaned in more, their faces getting close enough that he could feel the Scot’s breath as he huffed out a little laugh.

“Yer aff yer head,” said Aidan, closing the short distance between them, his lips practically brushing Jules’ with his next words, “I kind o’ like it, though.”

His breath smelled like good whisky and strong tea, and Jules was thirstier for him than either beverage. He tilted his head until their lips met, soft and warm. A gentle press before they parted briefly. Aidan turned to face him more, the flush high on his freckled cheeks looking particularly inviting. Sky blue eyes flickered up to meet his gaze, then down and closed as he brought their mouths together again. Jules felt a hand slip around his back—warm but tentative—just making him want to get even closer.

_I hope he got all the chalk off of it,_ his brain helpfully interrupted, _This may not be my nicest top, but it_ _’s dark coloured! White streaks would stand out like nothing else!_

He succeeded in pushing the stray thought out of his mind when he felt Aidan’s lips part slightly, and took the opportunity to dart his tongue out, just barely licking inside the other man’s mouth. He could taste the bitter tannins from their tea, mellowed with time and the solvent qualities of ethanol in the whisky they’d had since. He wanted to chase down every note of the amber liquid left lingering in the corners of Aidan’s mouth, sighing into it as they continued to kiss, and bringing his other hand up to just barely tease at pale curls. 

But it was not to be; Jules’ poor luck coming through once again, announcing its intentions with the jingle of the bell over the pub door. The two men shot apart, practically at opposite ends of the old couch as they watched a short, stout figure enter the room.

“Marcus! Anna! Hae ye got somethin’ on th’ stove fer Old Man Anderson? Ah’m chilled tae the bone, out in th’ dreich all day! Ach, hullo there lads! Awright?”

“We’re braw, Mr. Anderson. An’ ye?” asked Aidan, polite even when obviously flustered.

“Keepin’ on, Ah s’pose,” mused the elderly man, either not noticing or not caring about the blush that had spread over most of Aidan’s face by that point, “Why’re ye nae back on th’ farm, helpin’ yer ma, Aidan?”

“Oh! Um, I guess it’s about time tae head back.” The younger Scot checked his phone. “Aye, she’s been sendin’ messages,” he turned to Jules, “Ah’ll see ye th’morra, hopefully?”

“If we don’t get some sun by then, I will take it as a personal affront.”

“Heh, well, hopefully Scotland disnae mean tae offend!” said Aidan, giving a little wave before grabbing his jacket. “Come on, Tibby, time tae hit the road! Cheery-bye e’eryone! Hae a fair good e’en!”

Jules waved as he watched Aidan head to the door and heard Marcus stomp down the stairs just in time to say goodbye and welcome the lone patron of the pub in one breath. With one final shy smile to him, Aidan was off, Tiberius already barking at who knows what outside before the door could shut behind them. He slipped back up to his room, not really hungry for supper yet, and sat listening for the rain to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to talk about this chapter? Feel free to leave a comment here or harass me to put out the next chapter already. Need more Scottish AU nonsense? It can be found under the [Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic) tag, as tumblr’s algorithms have yet to flag it as completely inappropriate content for people of any age.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter you’ve all been waiting for, the one with the ~~beautiful hike~~ smut. Finally earning that "Explicit" rating, booyah! And of course, that makes it the longest installment yet :D  
>  If that's not your thing, it starts when they take a break, a little past the halfway point of the chapter, and goes nearly to the end. You can just read around it for the rest of the nonsense and descriptions of scenery, if you really want. 
> 
> Easy name reference for this chapter:  
> Jules = Phobos  
> Aidan = Ethos  
> Marcus = Praxis  
> Alec = Deimos  
> Claude = Porthos

Aidan showed up in his kilt again the next morning, though sadly in another one of his big frumpy sweaters. This one was at least a nice cream colour, so Jules could appreciate how nicely it matched his fluffy head of curls and played up the rosiness of his cheeks in the brisk breeze. The weather had cleared, and fluffy white clouds sailed across the sky in clusters. Jules had been very excited to see scattered sunlight playing over the hills when he woke. And he was even more excited now to see the Scot’s kilt fluttering slightly in the wind.

“Mornin’! Are ye ready t' see the beauty o’ Scotland by foot?” Aidan asked, much too chipper for the early hour.

Jules supposed he only had his own excitement to blame for their immediate start to the day. After all, he had texted asking how soon the other man could make it over to the B&B. Very quickly, was apparently the answer to that. He’d barely had time to finish breakfast before Aidan was dragging him out the front door.

“I figured ye might no’ hae packed th’ right shoes, so I brought ye a pair o’ hiking boots,” said Aidan, holding up the footwear in question.

_Wearing someone else_ _’s boots? That have been on someone else’s smelly feet?_ Jules pushed down his initial disgusted reaction, trying not to make a face. _I suppose it makes some amount of sense if we_ _’re going to be out on potentially muddy paths…_

“You know my foot size already? And I know I’ve asked this before, but you’re absolutely _sure_ you aren’t stalking me?”

“Ah’d just figured it mightn’t be too much bigger than mah own, so I brought me da’s old pair. If they dinnae fit, Marcus might hae a spare set lyin’ around.”

“Oh yes, because I’m likely to be able to fill the shoes of a half-giant,” Jules scoffed, “Do I look like I’ve got clown feet, to you?”

Aidan laughed, and Jules remembered why he was allowing himself to be dragged out into the wilderness. He may as well have been rat following the melodic tune not of a pipe, but of the amused noises emanating from a bright-eyed, handsome shepherd. _I wonder if he does play the bagpipes, though? It wouldn_ _’t be out of character for him to be even more stereotypically Scottish._

Instead of asking stupid questions, Jules replaced the trainers he’d had on with the worn leather boots, and was surprised to find them a good fit once he’d added his insoles. With that sorted, they hopped into Aidan’s truck, at his insistence that it would be a better choice for where they were travelling that day.

 

“So where are you taking me?” Jules asked when he’d gotten bored of staring out the window at field after field of sheep.

“The Ochils. It’s a nice walk. A bit o’ woodland, a few wee streams, moorland, some nice hills. Nothing too strenuous, an’ the views o’ the area are right bonnie.”

“Not too many sheep, I hope.”

Aidan laughed, the sound louder in the confines of the cab.

“It’s Scotland, there’re always gunnae be sheep.”

Jules gave an exaggerated pout and crossed his arms. “Well, so long as they aren’t in the road, I guess I’ll manage.”

Aidan chuckled again and they sank into a comfortable silence, Jules resuming looking out the windows.

 

“Ughhhhhhhh, someone should fix those roads! My breakfast is only barely still in my stomach,” complained Jules as he got out of the truck, feeling queasy.

“Aye, the wee country roads are winding. Are ye gunnae be awright? Dae ye want t’ rest fer a while?”

Jules sighed as if horribly put upon. “No, I’ll live. Where does the trail start?”

“Follow me,” said Aidan, striking off towards a break in the trees that edged the packed-dirt car park. “Ye can take th’ wheel on the way back, if ye like. Less likely tae make ye motion sick tha’ way.”

Jules followed a few paces behind him, avoiding the puddles remaining where the ground was rutted and willing his head to stop spinning.

Aidan led the way up a picturesque trail through the small fragment of forest— _up_ being the operative word. They were ascending constantly along a mild, but noticeable, grade. Jules could tell his legs were going to be sore tonight. And probably his ass, too, though perhaps not in the way he was hoping for...

The small trickle of water they’d been following through the trees and grew wider, the ground on either side of it falling away as they climbed. There wasn’t really a sharp transition point, but suddenly Jules realised that they were walking beside a gorge more than a few feet deep, the water in it now looking like an actual stream, albeit a small one. As the trees began to thin, they approached a small wooden bridge crossing the gorge, with a thin, rickety-looking metal handrail that had rust at all its joints.

“That doesn’t seem very safe,” Jules sniffed, turning his nose up at the poor excuse for a crossing.

“Wha? It’s fair safe, provided ye dinnae try anythin’ stupid,” replied Aidan, winking at Jules before starting to cross without a care in the world, apparently.

“Hmph!”

_Well, it didn_ _’t collapse and send him falling to his death_ , thought Jules as he decided it was probably fine to use. He walked across it carefully nonetheless, holding the rail tight.

Continuing to trek upwards, the sparse tree cover ended completely and the small gorge became a valley. Looking across at the other side, Jules saw rolling hills; muddy green with patches of darker green bushes covered in yellow flowers, and contrasting white spots, which were moving. Jules shuddered at the sight of the sheep meandering over the far side of the valley, like a fluffy white pox upon the land.

The path wound its way up, hugging the side of the steep hill on their side of the divide. The hill just kept getting steeper on Jules’ left, to the point where he actually stopped, worried that Aidan had led them astray. The trail wasn’t nearly so obvious any more, and they seemed to be simply edging along a precarious ledge in the soft earth.

“Are you quite certain you know where you’re going?” he asked, looking around sceptically. What was left of the ‘path’, if it could even be called that, had narrowed to barely a foot in width and was muddy with the previous day’s rain. Parts of it even had big chunks missing. One wrong step and a person could tumble down the hill into the valley which had opened up below. Jules looked down and wished he hadn’t.

_When did we get this high?_

“Aye, Ah’ve taken this route before. We’re nearly at th’ end o’ tha path.”

“Tch! It’s just as well, it really doesn’t look like it’s going to hold out much longer!” said Jules, eyeing the ground with contempt.

He watched as Aidan forged on ahead, trying to follow in his footsteps exactly, which was at least made easier by the mud holding their imprints. He watched as the shepherd gave a little jump over a section of the path that had succumbed to entropy and the endless drizzle waterlogging it, leaving a small but treacherous break. Jules stopped where he was, the divide separating them.

“I’m not jumping,” he said, shaking his head fervently. “This is ridiculous. The path doesn’t even continue!” Looking up ahead, it just petered into mucky grass, merging into the hillside. Jules leaned into the slope to his left.

“Tha’s ‘cause this is where we get off th’ trail and ontae the hills!” said Aidan, sounding much too excited about striking off into unmarked wilderness, as far as Jules was concerned. “Here, take mah hand. I promise Ah’ll nae let ye fall.”

Jules stared at the shepherd’s outstretched hand, pushed down his fears of dying stupidly on a Scottish hillside somewhere, and reached his own hand out to clasp it. He carefully stepped over the break in the path, making sure he had one foot planted firmly on the other side and wouldn’t slip before taking the weight off his other.

No sooner than he’d gotten both feet safely to the far side did his fears come rushing back, as the war cry of his enemy rang out over the valley, coming from above.

_B-aaaaaaaa!_

Jules jumped a little at the sight of a large, fluffy, dead-eyed creature, perched on the edge of the hillside, practically on top of them. He also made a rather undignified noise, but hoped that present company would politely ignore it. Luckily Aidan still had his hand, or Jules might have slipped off the narrow, muddy ledge as he flailed. The solidly-built Scot counterbalanced for them both.

“Ugh! What is it doing up there? Please tell me it’s not going to jump on top of us.”

Aidan was very clearly trying to hold back laughter as he replied, “Ach nae, she prolly just wants tae use th’ path, an’ we’re in the way.”

Jules made to glare at him, but it wouldn’t have done any good; Aidan was already using his free arm to wave at the nasty beast, making ‘shoo’-ing noises and not paying any attention to the man clutching his other hand in a death grip. The sheep bolted back a few metres at the sudden noise and motion, and Jules wondered why his not-technically-a-scream hadn’t been more effective.

“Come ahn, almost there,” said Aidan, starting to walk again and pulling Jules along gently.

For his part, Jules loosened his grip so that he wouldn’t leave worse marks than he probably had already, but didn’t let go. They reached the end of the path and found themselves standing on much flatter, if slightly spongy-feeling ground. Turning to check on what the sheep was doing, Jules realized that a few more had appeared, including some babies. They were tramping over the steep, slippery ground as if it were a polished dance floor, not a care in the world. _Unnatural monsters._

“See? Nuthin’ tae worry o’er,” said Aidan. His cheeks seemed rosier than before, and Jules realized that their hands were still intertwined.

“My hero!” he said, emphatically, giving Aidan’s hand a squeeze before letting him have it back.

The action had its intended effect, making Aidan’s face go almost as red as his kilt, the blush intensifying.

They continued over the hill, which was less steep once you were on top of it, and Jules could see more rolling, yellow-green hills stretching out before them. After they’d walked over a few more— going up and down again and again, criss-crossing the pastoral landscape—Jules had nearly lost track of which direction they’d come from.

He whipped out his mobile to try and see where they were, but there was no signal. No reception, no data. He opened up the maps app, figuring GPS satellites would still work. Then realised his mistake—he hadn’t thought to download an area map for offline use. Having a GPS signal was pointless if it was just floating in a big, unmarked grey space when your phone couldn’t access the map itself. _Ugh! Stupid useless technology._

“How on earth are we supposed to find our way around? No paths! No trail markers! Do you actually know where you’re going?” he complained,  jogging to catch up to the other man, who had continued walking a few paces while he’d looked at his phone. He hovered at Aidan’s side, agitated, “We’re going to get lost and die, aren’t we? Then the sheep are going to eat our corpses so our families won’t even have anything to bury!”

Aidan stifled a laugh and began to speak, “Dinnae fash yersel’! Sheep dinnae eat—” but before he could continue, Jules interjected.

“How do you know? Have you ever found a body on your farm?”

“Nae!”

“Well, how do you know the sheep haven’t been eating them?”

Aidan just stared at him for a moment, perplexed, then shook his head in exasperation. He stopped and took the pack off his back, opening it and rummaging for a moment. Pulling out a small field notebook with waxed covers, and a small leather pouch, Aidan tried to convince Jules that they weren’t going to get lost. He opened the book and unfolded a map which was stapled in. It had notes written in pencil scrawled over it.

“We’ll nae get lost, ‘cause I ken this route well an’ hae a map, besides,” he then opened the pouch, and a compass slid out of it, “A compass an’ map are all ye need, though there’s also a GPS in th’ bag, just in case.”

“Fine, whatever! I’m convinced! You’re not going to leave me to die in the hills!” Jules started walking again, forging on ahead through the tangle of grass, already obscenely long for how early in the season it was. 

“Ummm, Jules? Uh… we’re supposed t’ be gaeing this way,” Aidan called from behind him.

Head held even higher, Jules turned around and fell into step beside the Scot, daring him with his eyes to so much as giggle.

 

An hour or so and many identical looking slopes later, Jules was starting to get a bit winded. He questioned why he’d ever thought this was going to be a fun outing.

“God, how do you do this all day long?” he whined, “It’s not like I’m not fit—I go to the gym at least three times a week! I can run on the treadmill for an hour no problem!”

“I dinnae doubt it,” Aidan replied, sneaking a glance over at Jules then averting his eyes again right after, sheepishly.

“Ugh, then why are all my muscles sore?”

“‘cause ye use different ones fer th’ flat ground o’ London.”

“Then you must have _all kinds_ of muscles I’m unfamiliar with,” said Jules without missing a beat, a sly tone in his voice. The rosy flush on Aidan’s face from hiking in the cool air quickly deepened to an obvious blush.

“O- oh! Uh... I guess some o’ them get more work out ahn the hills, but... um, it’s nae like ye dinnae hae them, too.”

Jules basked in the other man’s flustered state, briefly forgetting his sore and tired limbs.

 

Not long after, they came across the most significant stream he’d seen all day. It must have been 4 or 5 metres across, flowing lazily between the plateau of the hill they were on and a much bigger slope. Aidan led them alongside it for a short while, until they came to a place where the riverbed had lots of rocks in it, including some which stuck up above the water line.

“Do you actually expect us to cross that?” asked Jules, unimpressed with the idea of getting his feet wet.

“Aye, though perhaps I might hae thought t’ bring walking sticks...” Aidan held his chin in his hand for a moment, brow furrowed, then began picking his way across, daintily stepping from rock to rock. He stopped about a metre and a half into the width of the stream and partially turned to look back at Jules, smiling as he extended a hand to help him cross.

“Pfft, I’m perfectly capable of crossing a little stream, you know,” Jules sniffed, still a little embarrassed by his hysterics on the narrow path over the valley earlier.

“Watch out, they’re fair slippery,” Aidan shrugged and turned around again, carefully choosing where he put his feet. Every few steps he turned his head back to check on his walking companion.

Jules started across, using a few of the rocks he’d seen Aidan step on. Halfway through, he was feeling pretty confident as he watched the Scot reach dry land on the other side. Next, he debated between the tiny, pointy, uneven rock he’d seen Aidan briefly plant his foot on, and a much flatter, wider rock. He went for the more stable-looking surface, but before he could fully transfer his weight, he realised that he’d made a huge mistake. This rock was _much_ more slippery than the others. Jules could feel the sole of his boot scraping off a thick layer of algae as his weight got split and he lost his balance. He plopped unceremoniously into the stream, landing on his butt on the rocky bottom.

“Jules!” Aidan called out, worry in his tone.

“Noooooo!” Jules wailed, splashing his hands around in anger.

Luckily the water wasn’t very deep at this point in the stream, so he was only soaked up to his waist. He patted nervously at the breast pocket of his jacket. Finding his phone safe and dry was the only silver lining he could see, given the awfulness of the current situation. When he’d recovered from the initial shock of the freezing cold dunk he’d had, Jules began to stand up, slipping again before he could get his feet under him properly. Aidan had made his way quickly back over the rocks to the middle of the stream, and was making concerned noises as he reached out a hand again.

“Show off,” Jules said sourly, though he took the proffered hand to pull himself up. He briefly thought about pulling Aidan into the stream with him, but managed to silence the vindictive part of his brain which had come up with an idea that needlessly mean. “It’s fine, I’m soaked already, I’ll just walk through the stream,” he added when Aidan made to help him back up onto the rocks.

Scrambling out on the other side, Jules did a more thorough inspection of himself while Aidan dug through the pack again.  Literally the only _completely_ dry item he had on at this point was the scarf Aidan had given him the other day. He was so frustrated and uncomfortable that he felt like crying, but pride kept him from actually sitting down and sobbing. Looking over at Aidan, he saw the man had laid out some items on a dry patch of grass and was unrolling a traveler’s microfiber towel.

“Well aren’t you just Mary fucking Poppins? What else have you got in your magic rucksack?”

Aidan looked over at him and held out the towel. “When ye spend enough years out ahn the hills, bein’ prepared fer anythin’s second nature, e’en fer a short walk.”

“Short my arse,” said Jules under his breath, stripping off his jacket and shirt. He grabbed the towel from the other man and began drying off with jerky motions, goosebumps rising on his arms and chest as the breeze hit his exposed, damp skin.

“Ah’m sorry, Jules, we’re about ha’ way along th’ route,” said Aidan apologetically, eyes averted while Jules was partly naked. He handed over a small bundle of dry fabric. “Turnin’ back wouldnae be any faster than keepin’ on, though we can cut the end short an’ gae t’ the closer exit point.”

Jules took the fabric from Aidan’s hands and discovered it was a long-sleeved shirt made from some kind of thin but insulating technical fabric. It hung off his frame once he’d pulled it over his head, slightly loose; obviously meant to fit his more sturdily-built walking companion. To keep the hem from getting soaked, he undid his waterlogged trousers and shucked them down his thighs. He realised partway through that he'd have to take off his boots to actually finish changing out of the soggy-stiff garments, and sighed heavily.

Sitting down on a thankfully mud-free patch of yellow-y grass, he resigned himself to his fate of being in at least one kind of discomfort for the rest of the day. At the moment, it was the coarse vegetation poking his probably bruised ass through thin, wet boxer-briefs. He undid his laces and tugged the boots off, one of his insoles flying out as he did so.

“Ugggghhhhh... Whyyyyyyyy?” Jules remembered that he’d only brought the one pair for day-to-day wear and they were now very wet.

Aidan retrieved the one that had decided to make a break for it, and brought it over along with a small black parcel.

“Unfortunately, th’ only change o’ trousers Ah’ve got with are fer rain,” he said ruefully, still focusing his gaze off to the side.

Jules inspected the package; it was a small bag that, when turned inside out, became the lining of a pocket in a pair of packable, lightweight rain trousers.

_Tear-away rain trousers_. Jules shuddered, and not just from the chill of the air on his bare thighs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn something so entirely... functional,” Jules managed to hold back the other words he was thinking: _Hideous. Tacky. Awful. Ill-conceived._ _I could probably go on..._

“Well, they’re nae fer fashion, tha’s certain,” replied Aidan, who had now turned his back to give Jules some semblance of privacy, “But they’ll be a sight more comfy than wet, heavy trousers.”

There wasn’t another soul in sight. Not even sheep at this point in their walk, which Jules was more than glad of. Sitting on the ground, peeling off most his clothing was more vulnerable than he’d like to be around the nasty creatures. Once Jules was dressed again—adding a matching, packable rain jacket to his ensemble— Aidan turned round and brought over an empty plastic bag for his wet things, tying it off and putting it in the pack.

“Ah’d offer ye dry socks, but they’ll nae be much use in wet boots,” he said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Jules replied, jamming said boots back onto his feet with wet squelching noises. “Ugh. Really, I’ll be fine. Totally fine. Let’s just keep going.”

Aidan nodded, and led the way up the slope in front of them. Jules tried to focus on something other than how miserable he was, but between his soggy boots, sore bottom, aching leg muscles, and the cold wind that had picked up, it was exceeding difficult. The damn rain trousers didn’t help, either—the swishing noise made by the cheap nylon as he walked a constant reminder of his shame. 

“How do you make it look so _effortless_?” Jules asked in a nastier tone of voice than he’d meant to use, watching the Scot ascending ahead of him, “You’re sure-footed as... well, I was going to say a mountain goat, but I suppose a sheep is more apt.”

Aidan looked back and flashed Jules a smile, which helped his mood slightly. The man slowed down and fell into step beside him, matching his slower pace as he fought the squelching heaviness of his boots.

“Years o’ practice. It’s mah job, after all,” Aidan said, looking at Jules, “But honest, yer keepin’ up real well.”

“Pfft, yeah, sure.”

“Ah’d nae lie t’ ye. We’ve done abou’ 3 miles o’ hilly terrain an’ a few hundred feet o’ elevation. It’s nae a walk in tha park.”

“Except it is. Literally. We are walking in a national park right now.”

Aidan laughed at that, the musical sound carrying on the wind and seeming to surround them. He gave Jules a gentle elbow to the side. They continued walking in companionable silence. Jules was thankful that Aidan hadn’t laughed _at_ him, even a little, since his dunk in the river. His kindness made the whole thing slightly less awful.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” exclaimed Jules when he saw they were coming up on another little stream. It was smaller, sure, but would still require crossing over some slippery rocks. “Where on earth do these stupid things come from? They seem to appear and disappear between the hills!”

“Actually, fer th’ wee ones, especially, tha’s true. A lot o’ this land’s waterlogged. The rivulets an’ streams appear at watershed points, then they can disappear intae the groundwater again.”

“Ugh. Ridiculous landscape,” huffed Jules, “I guess I’ll just change _back_ into my wet clothes!”

“Nae need fer tha. Here,” Aidan approached the stream and put one foot on the first rock, extending an arm out to Jules.

Seeing as going it alone hadn’t worked out well for him last time, Jules did take Aidan’s hand, slowly and carefully following in his footsteps. That warm, strong hand kept him upright even across one slightly wobbly rock, and they both made it to the other side safe and dry. Jules _might_ have held onto Aidan’s hand a little longer than strictly necessary once back on solid—relatively speaking—ground. The earth beneath them was still spongy and springy, making Jules feel unsteady on his feet.

 

After getting past one particularly mucky stretch of flatter land between slopes, a very steep peak loomed in front of them.

“Tha’s the highest point ‘round here,” Aidan said, pointing at it. “After this, it’s mostly downhill, an’ maybe an hour, or a wee bit more, tae the truck, if we cut the route short.”

“ _Finally_ , some good news!” Jules joked, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

He only found himself slightly winded by the time they reached the top, upon which stood an old and weathered stone marker. The view was unobstructed for all 360 degrees; rolling hills, farmland, sleepy little towns, wooded areas, and much larger rivers all stretching out toward the horizon in every direction. And, of course, little white bits of fluff dotting the landscape, moving over the hills like some kind of plague symptom. The wind whipped around them and Jules shivered a little as the nylon caught it, making a racket again. He was glad of the scarf around his neck, though. As the only item of clothing he hadn’t managed to soak on his little dip in the frigid water, it was the warmest thing he had on, now.

“It’s a fair bonnie view, eh? Worth the effort?” Aidan asked, coming up beside Jules, a bright smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go _that far_ ,” said Jules in a haughty voice, but smiling back just a bit. It was pretty nice, he supposed, though it might be even nicer if the sun would return and make everything a little less dreary.

Aidan pointed out a few interesting sights, including a complex of nondescript buildings which apparently housed whisky as it aged. _I could_ really _go for some whisky right now_ , thought Jules as another shiver took him.

“Oh! Ye must be chilled tae the bone up ‘ere, Jules. Ah’m sorry! Here, just down the next slope there’s a sheltered area nestled in among the rocky hillside. We can hae a break an’ get ye warmed up a bit afore headin’ down again.”

Reaching the rocks, it was drier on this section of the hill, and there were plenty of places to sit with a bit more cover from the wind, and a beautiful view. Why they hadn’t just come straight here—instead of tramping over mucky hills for hours and being harassed by sheep—Jules didn’t understand.  He took a seat on a large, flat-ish rock and stretched his aching legs out in front of him. Aidan took off his rucksack, setting it on the ground and joining Jules on the rock, leaving almost enough space for a third person between them.

_Why is he so shy all of a sudden?_ Jules wondered. _We_ finally _kissed yesterday and now he_ _’s acting more skittish than ever._

“Um… Ah’ve got an emergency blanket, if ye want?” the Scot said, looking up from his rummaging. Jules eyed the seemingly bottomless bag, and took a guess.

“One of those silver foil crinkly disasters?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in the most unimpressed way possible, “No, I’d rather freeze to death, thank you. I’m already a walking fashion crime.”

“Ah’d rather ye nae freeze tae death,” Aidan said, frowning.

“Well, then you’d better act as a good shield from the wind,” Jules suggested, shuffling over to sit right up against the other man’s side.

“O- oh! Um, I mean… okay,” Aidan mumbled, cheeks going pink again. He resumed his search through the pack, retrieving a silver thermos and two granola bars, handing one to Jules.

“How are you putting off so much heat?” asked Jules in disbelief, leaning into Aidan a little more now that he was upright again, cold fingers fiddling with the wrapper on the snack.

“Uh… Ah’m wearin’ quite a warm sweater? Oh! Would ye like tae wear it? Ah’m sorry, should hae thought o’ tha’ before!”

“You’re entirely too chivalrous for your own good, you know?” Jules shook his head, “Then you’d freeze. I won’t allow it.”

Aidan opened the thermos, avoiding eye contact, and nearly spilling its contents when his hands fumbled a little. He saved it, though—just a small slosh ending up in the dirt between his boots—and handed the metal vessel over to Jules, steam rising from the opening. “Tea?” he asked, tentatively meeting Jules’ gaze, their faces quite close, still blushing a little.

Jules took it, offering a sly smile in return, which made Aidan look down at his boots again. _Oh god, that_ _’s so good_ , Jules thought, distracted for a moment by the hot beverage warming him up from the inside out. It could have been the most atrocious swill on the planet and he would have drunk it down greedily for how comforting it was. Once he’d had a moment to enjoy the fleeting sensation of warmth again, Jules resumed his plan of attack.

“Here, the wind is getting me from the other side now, it keeps changing direction. You’d better wrap your arms around me to block as much of it as possible if you don’t want me to freeze,” he said, matter-of-factly, nudging his shoulder under Aidan’s arm.

The Scot complied, albeit tentatively, arms coming around Jules’ body, gently pulling them closer together. Jules happily rested back against Aidan’s broad chest, enjoying the sensation of being wrapped up in a big fluffy sweater, even if it did make a horrible noise as the wool slid against the nylon of his rain jacket.

_Seriously? Why is he so nervous today?_ Jules wondered, the tension in Aidan’s body noticeable. _He was practically a Casanova last night in the pub compared to this_ _… Oh! Of course, he was at least two fingers of whisky in, then, duh!_

Jules sat soaking up the much appreciated body heat while he pondered how best to get Aidan to relax. _Maybe he_ _’s got a flask we can add to the tea? Seems to have just about everything else on hand…_

The sun even decided to come out for a bit, peeking between the scattering clouds and warming everything its rays touched. They sat like that for a bit, finishing their granola bars and passing the thermos of tea back and forth. 

Having actually managed to warm up again to a comfortable level, Jules pulled away from the embrace temporarily to take off the uncomfortable jacket, which was beginning to make him sweat with its lack of breathability.

“Ahhhh! That’s better,” he said, stashing it in the pack and stretching before leaning back into Aidan, who hesitated then put his arms around Jules again.

“Uh, this okay?”

“Mmmm, better than okay,” Jules replied, turning into him more and grabbing the thermos, putting on the lid and placing it in a small alcove next to them on the hillside.  

Hands now free, Jules snaked his arms around the Scot’s body in return, pulling him even closer. Blue eyes met his, going slightly unfocused as Jules closed the remaining distance between their faces, lips brushing softly. A quiet—but still surprised—noise escaped Aidan’s throat as Jules kissed him properly, bringing one hand up to tangle in his messy hair. 

They kissed slowly, a gentle breeze flicking their pale locks around and into each other’s faces a little. Jules hummed happily and scooted into Aidan’s lap, arms draped over strong shoulders. As they made out, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, Jules began to feel even warmer. With Aidan placing gentle kisses along his jaw line, he decided the scarf was now both too hot and very much in the way. Jules undid it, dropping it into the pack. Aidan immediately resumed what he’d been doing, lips trailing down Jules’ long neck.

Sighing with contentment, Jules brought his hands up under the hem of Aidan’s sweater, dragging them along the Scot’s solid sides and around the back of his shoulders. Aidan moaned into his neck at even that tame touch, and Jules wondered how much noise he would make with a little more encouragement. He could feel the other man getting aroused beneath him, stiffening cock unmistakable as it pushed up against the bottom of his thighs. His own was also beginning to perk up—clammy confines of hideous rain trousers and still-wet pants be damned.

“O- oh!” Aidan exclaimed as Jules wiggled in his lap a bit, hands gripping firmer at Jules’ waist as his hips twitched, rocking them both just a little. 

“Let’s get this off you, shall we?” Jules suggested, pulling up at the thick fabric of the shepherd’s sweater. Aidan lifted his arms to help, the woolly garment getting dropped on top of the pack haphazardly. Neither of them was apparently very concerned about whether a sleeve ended up a little dirty at the moment. With Aidan’s arms now bared up to the edge of t-shirt sleeves, Jules couldn’t resist running his hands over their warm musculature. Firm and strong, but still soft and so nice to touch, nothing stringy or overly bulging about them. He also noticed how trails of cute little golden freckles continued their way down the shepherd’s arms as well, interspersed between the blond hairs on his forearms.

Aidan began to show a little more initiative, shyness disappearing as they continued making out. He pulled Jules’ face down to meet his, hands stroking through his hair and cupping the back of his neck as they kissed, tongues teasing into each other’s mouths. Jules responded with some breathy moans which Aidan captured with his lips.

Meanwhile, Jules’ hands continued their exploration of the Scot’s torso, mapping the smooth expanses of functional muscle beneath a thin layer of padding—not showy like Claude’s gym-and-fad-diet regime sculpted form, but they felt good beneath his fingers. He also got a demonstration of their hidden strength as Aidan shifted him effortlessly to a different angle on his own lap, bringing their mouths together again as he ran one wide palm down Jules’ side and over his hip. Unfortunately, the nylon rain trousers made the _least_ sexy crinkling noise possible.

_Ugh, whyyyyyyy_ _… what a boner killer!_

So, although Jules was very much enjoying the sensation of those strong fingers kneading along the outside of his thigh and around toward his ass, he simply _had_ to rearrange them. Shifting off of Aidan’s lap, he kept them connected by their mouths for a moment, one hand threaded deep into pale curls. He let his fingers slip between the fluffy locks of hair, freeing them gently as he knelt in front of the Scot, whose eyes were even wider than usual. The pupils were shockingly large considering the now-bright sun overhead, and the rings of bright blue around them almost glowed in his backlit face, hair a shining, irregular halo of pale gold.

Jules smiled his best coy smile before letting his gaze drop to Aidan’s lap, admiring the way his kilt was tented over his arousal. Letting his tongue flick out to swipe over his lower lip seductively, Jules placed his left hand on the Scot’s right knee for stability before running his right hand up the other man’s thigh, underneath the edge of the kilt. His fingers caressed over thick muscle dusted with a sparse covering of soft hair, feeling Aidan’s legs twitch a little further open as his hand continued its quest, reaching the point where thigh met hip.

_My, kilts certainly are convenient for this_ , he thought, finding no underwear beneath the wool fabric, once again.

“Oh, Jules…” Aidan panted, mouth slightly open, staring down at him with desire scrawled all over his face.

“Mmm, yes?” Jules asked, slowly bringing his hand across to wrap around the base of the other man’s cock, giving it a firm squeeze as his other hand flipped up the front of the kilt so he could see what he was doing.

“Oh! _Jules_! Nnnnnhh!”

Smirking, Jules gave him a nice slow stroke, getting acquainted with his cock. _Oh, I_ _’d_ definitely _like to get to know this better_ , he thought, mouth watering a little. He admired the sight in front of him as his hand moved up and down the girthy shaft. It jutted straight up from the man’s body with a thick, uniform width, tapering right near the tip. He was pretty average in terms of length, but Jules couldn’t wait to feel his lips stretch around it, his own cock giving a twitch at the thought.

“I think I could go for another taste of the ‘true Scottish experience’, if you know what I mean,” Jules teased, looking up at Aidan as he leaned over his lap, bringing his mouth down to where his hand was still wrapped around the man’s erection. That call-back to their first night in the pub got a breathless laugh from the man before he managed a response.

“O- oh, uhmm… okay,” said Aidan, conversational ability apparently having deserted his brain along with a not-insignificant amount of its blood supply. His right hand lifted to cover Jules’ left, which still rested on his knee, squeezing gently and caressing his wrist with blunt fingertips.

Jules kissed the head of his cock softly, and even that was enough to get a sharp inhalation in response, and a slight spasm of Aidan’s thighs as he fought not to buck upward. _Mmmm, eager,_ thought Jules as he kissed his way down the man’s shaft, lapping his way upward again, followed by a stroke of his hand. He mouthed at Aidan’s foreskin, swirling it around the head of his cock before swiping his tongue in the opposite direction, getting it nice and wet.

“Ahh… unnnh…” was all Aidan managed, thighs spreading a little wider to give Jules more access. Taking advantage of the extra space to maneuver, he moved his left hand further up the man’s leg to brace over his hipbone, rubbing circles there.

Puffing a hot breath over hotter flesh, Jules wrapped his lips around the head of Aidan’s cock. He slowly brought his mouth down a little, then pulled up, and repeated the motion, travelling a little further each time until his lips met his stationary hand. He began to move them in tandem, swirling his tongue around the edge of the head each time he reached the top. Aidan was letting out soft moans, the hand no longer holding Jules’ fluttering around a little. He eventually let it rest gently on Jules’ head, fingers stroking through his hair.

“Haa… haa… ohhh, Jules, tha’ feels sae good,” Aidan practically groaned, thighs trembling a little as Jules picked up the pace, bobbing his head with more intensity and hollowing his cheeks. He removed his hand to take a little more of Aidan’s length into his mouth, palming himself with his now free hand and softly moaning around the head of the cock in his mouth.

_Oh, you haven_ _’t seen anything yet_ , he thought, _Just wait until we_ _’re in an actual bed_. In truth, the angle they were at wasn’t ideal; Jules couldn’t get Aidan quite as deep as he wanted to, and his knees were starting to complain from resting up against a rock on the hard, uneven ground. It didn’t matter, though, because it didn’t take long for Aidan’s hips to start twitching and his breathing to grow ragged.

“Nnnghhhh… Jules, Ah’m… Ah’m gunnae come…” managed the Scot, taking his hand out of Jules’ hair.

_So polite!_ Not that he’d been applying anywhere near enough pressure to hold him in place, but Jules appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Keeping the same rhythm and pace, Jules felt Aidan’s cock pulse as it spilled hot into his mouth.

“Ahhhhhh! Nnnnhhh!” Aidan let out, rather louder than before, throwing his head back.

Jules stroked him through the orgasm before pulling his mouth off and spitting daintily onto some scrubby brush plants off to one side of their resting place. He took one hand off Aidan’s legs to fetch a water bottle from the rucksack, rinsing his mouth out a bit. He’d never been keen on the taste of come, and apparently even the fresh air and scenery didn’t change that. Pushing off the ground and sitting next to the Scot again, Jules’ knees thanked him.

Aidan looked at him, eyes still a little glazed over with lust, and he leaned in for a kiss as he clumsily flipped his kilt back into place. “Tha’ was amazin’,” he said, voice a little rough around the edges, “Per’aps I can return th’ favour?” He placed his hand at the top of Jules’ inner thigh and squeezed gently. Right next to it, Jule’s neglected erection jumped, straining at the still-damp fabric of his briefs under the rain trousers.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly let you—or anyone—go down on me in these absolute atrocities,” Jules replied, batting his hand away and gesturing at the trousers in one motion.

“Sae take ‘em off,” Aidan said, kissing along his jaw again, moving down his neck and letting his big warm hands come to rest on Jules’ hips.

“And freeze to death? I don’t think so,” huffed Jules, finding it harder and harder to keep dissuading the other man, as turned on as he was. But the sun had disappeared behind the clouds again and the breeze was picking up.

Aidan’s mouth was still trailing lower, now just teasing at Jules’ collar bones and around the neckline of his borrowed shirt. “I dinnae mind…swear it,” said the Scot, making to kneel in turn. Jules arrested his motion by placing a hand on his chest.

“Of course you don’t mind, you just got some rather excellent head,” Jules replied haughtily, “It will be a while before your faculties return. _I_ mind, and that’s the point.”

Aidan frowned a little, brow furrowed as he returned to his seated position. “Are ye sure I cannae dae th’ same fer ye?” he asked, tentatively leaning in to kiss Jules again. When that was met with enthusiasm, he made another suggestion. “How ‘bout mah hand? Would ye prefer tha’?”

Jules’ hips bucked a little as he felt the warmth of Aidan’s hand move to cover his cock where it was very obviously still hard through the thin fabric of the trousers.

“Unnh… but I’m all clammy still!” he whined, torn between his arousal and residual embarrassment. One was very clearly winning out, though, as he continued to kiss the Scot, his hands running over that broad chest but not pushing him away.

“Told ye, I dinnae mind,” Aidan whispered in his ear, hot breath making Jules shiver in the cool air. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to the point where Jules’ jaw and neck met, then sucked gently at his earlobe, which got a little moan in response.

“Ohhh, fine, you win,” Jules relented, his hands now pulling at the elastic waistband of his borrowed rain trousers, “Let me just get these out of the way.”

“Here, lemme help ye,” said Aidan, undoing the snaps down the sides of the legs with dexterous hands. Then he scooped Jules up and deposited him on his lap, tugging his briefs down a little as he did so, freeing his aching cock.

“Ah!” Jules gasped, as much from surprise as from the sudden exposure, wind unpleasantly cool against his clammy skin. He clutched at Aidan’s shoulders, smashing their mouths together again.

As he deepened the kiss, tongue probing the inside of Jules’ mouth, Aidan’s warm palm found his cock again, getting another, more heated gasp as a reward. Curling his fingers around the shaft, he gave an experimental stroke, and Jules moaned against his mouth, hot puffs of breath mingling in the space between their lips.

As Aidan began to jerk him off, Jules found himself fascinated by the feeling of the calluses on the shepherd’s hands. The little harder spots at key points on fingers and where the underside of the man’s hand curled beneath his knuckles were a novelty. They weren’t rough—thankfully it seemed the invention of moisturizer had made it this far out of the urban centres—but were stimulating in a very exciting, different kind of way.  An unfamiliar sensation for someone used to the soft, manicured hands of other guys in finance and business.

Sprawled wantonly in the Scot’s lap, Jules leaned into his chest, losing himself to the moment, turned on by doing this out in the open air, of all places. He probably wasn’t going to last very long, either, this time. Not with everything being so outside of his usual experience—like a dream of a different kind of life. Everything felt strange and wonderful.

“Mmhh… just–  a little more…” Jules mumbled against Aidan’s lips, bringing one of his own hands down to wrap around the other man’s, squeezing a little to ask for more pressure. “Ohhhhhh, yesssssssss! Just like… ah! That!” Apparently the Scot’s strength extended to his fingers, which were now gripped deliciously tight around Jules’ cock. He bucked his hips up a little, in counterpoint to Aidan’s strokes, feeling his foreskin get pulled almost all the way back over the head of his cock before being brought back up with the motion of the other man’s fingers. The little squeeze at the end of each stroke was driving him half mad in the best way. 

Jules panted against Aidan’s neck, placing messy kisses all along it as he shuddered, getting close. He could feel his balls tighten, and used one hand to tangle in the Scot’s tousled mane, bringing their mouths together once more, tongues sliding up against each other as he groaned his release. He felt the hot splatter of come on his exposed pelvis and lower abdomen, quickly cooling in the late-afternoon breeze.

“Hnnnn…” he managed, his quick tongue not quite back yet to make a good quip.

Aidan held him in place with one arm while reaching down to fetch something from the pack with his other. He flourished a handkerchief and softly wiped at the small puddle threatening to roll off of Jules’ stomach. After he’d finished cleaning him up, Jules had recovered enough to tuck himself away and do up the abhorrent trousers once more.

“You really are the biggest boy scout,” said Jules, staring pointedly at the soiled square of fabric Aidan was folding up to tuck away again, “Is there anything you aren’t prepared for?”

The shepherd smiled at him, almost shyly. “It pays tae be prepared when yer out in the hills regularly. So, dae ye want th’ shorter route back?”

Maybe it was just the post-orgasmic glow, but Jules felt in much better spirits, and answered accordingly. “No, let’s walk the rest of the route you planned. I’m sure it’s nicer—”

_Baaaaaaaaaa!_

Jules nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, whipping around and almost tripping over his own feet. A large white sheep with a black face had snuck up behind them, and was only a few metres away, visible over another rocky outcropping.

“Ugh! Has that perverted creature been watching us the entire time? Disgusting.”

Aidan chuckled, the warm sound soothing to Jules’ frazzled nerves. “Nae. Look, o’er there,” he pointed back the way they’d come, where now a small group of sheep were wandering, “Must hae just showed up.”

“Well, then let’s go whichever route takes us _away_ from them,” Jules huffed.

 

When they got back to the truck later—having avoided any further sheep- or stream-related incidents—Jules sat sideways on the passenger seat and hauled off his soaking wet boots. Aidan dug out a pair of warm, dry socks for him to wear on the ride back. Once he had them on, Aidan took his wet ones and added them to the plastic bag with his other things. Jules felt a bit chagrined all over again, and looked off to the side, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Thanks for putting up with me today,” he said in a small voice that didn’t sound like him at all.

Aidan lifted a hand to gently trail fingers through Jules’ hair, cupping his cheek with one broad palm. “Nae worries. Ah’m sorry ye dinnae hae th’ best time...”

Jules couldn’t stand the sad look on Aidan’s face, so he grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, it wasn’t _all_ bad,” he added, getting another shy smile in return.

“Dae ye want t’ drive on the way back?”

Jules shook his head, “No, I think what I would like most is to try and nap. I’m _exhausted_! How do you do this all day long?”

 

When they arrived back at the Equinox, Jules fixed Alec with a glare the moment he walked through the door, knowing just how bedraggled he must look.

“I swear, if you decide to start talking now, there will be dire consequences,” He stomped up the stairs, Aidan following at his heels. The man gave a little apologetic shrug to Alec as he passed, Jules noticed in the foyer mirror. Up in the room, Aidan got out his wet things and helped him hang them up to dry along the shower curtain rail. _How is he_ so _nice? It_ _’s ridiculous._

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay and shower?” Jules asked in his best seductive voice, beginning to strip down again.

Even after what they’d done earlier, Aidan blushed bright pink before managing: “O- oh! Well… wish I could. Uh, I really dae! But it’s already, uh, rather later than Ah’d planned on bein’ back, an’ I have tae get a few things finished back on th’ farm.”

Jules pouted and began shimmying out of the hideous rain pants.

“Um, oh! But, um,  Ah’ll see ye th’morra before the ceilidh, okay?” Aidan said, eyes flitting around the room, apparently trying not to stare at Jules, who was now down to just his pants.

“Ugh, _fine_. Suit yourself. I _suppose_ the sheep need you, too!” Jules huffed, a playful edge to his voice as he prowled right up to the other man. Draping his arms over broad shoulders, Jules pressed the line of his body right up against Aidan’s and placed one lingering kiss on his lips before whispering into his ear, “Have a good night, Aidan.”

Drawing away again, Jules turned around and hooked his fingers into the band of his briefs, pushing them down and off. Winking over his shoulder, he sauntered into the ensuite and turned on the water.

He heard a deep breath being let out forcefully, “G’night, Jules. Sweet dreams,” and the sound of the door clicking shut. Disappointed, Jules got into the steamy shower and tried not to be too envious of the sheep who would be getting to see Aidan that evening instead of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this hillwalking story, including the bit about falling in the stream, _may_ have been shamelessly lifted from my own experience… however, I am not scared of sheep, and I just laughed at myself when I went for a dunk in the cold water. Though sadly I didn’t have a gorgeous Scotsman with me to provide tea, etc. 
> 
> Need more Scottish AU silliness to tide you over until the next chapter? It can be found under the [Space Gays in Kilts: The Fic](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/tagged/space-gays-in-kilts%3A-the-fic) tag on my tumblr.


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